


Dream of Starsky

by Glyphhunter



Series: Iridiachrome [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Institutions, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 02, Prescription Drugs, Violence, Visions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-01-31 12:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12682188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glyphhunter/pseuds/Glyphhunter
Summary: Lance wakes up in bed to plain painted walls and the sun shining through large tinted windows. His name is Gabriella Espinosa and as a resident of Grand Ridge Mental Health Hospital, he’s as far from the war against the Galra as possible. In this version of Earth, Voltron doesn’t exist.But he keeps having visions of an Altean prince and his husband. He sees through the prince’s eyes, feels his emotions, and knows without a doubt that they’re somehow true. And if he can figure out the reason behind them, then maybe he can finally go home. Then Akira arrives, achingly familiar in all the wrong ways and Lance, for once, wants things to go his way.





	1. Memory of Future Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was an endeavour and huge thanks goes to everyone on the KlKl discord for making it possible to pull through. Kudos to the KlanceBB for hosting this event, you guys did a great job!
> 
> And a massive thanks to Vare for pitching in! You went above and beyond and I can't thank you enough.

Lance wakes up in bed to plain painted walls and the sun shining through large tinted windows. The sheets are stiff even after being slept in and he doesn’t waste time staying under them. Maybe he can convince his mother to bring him a proper blanket. Or even his pillow, at least. He’d have to call her.

His roommate is gone already, he notices, their bed unmade like always and Lance sighs in partial relief. It means he has the bathroom to himself but it also means they’re going to fetch him for breakfast soon. The floor is cold but his slippers are by the desks along with his socks and he really has to pee.

The bathroom is somehow more plain than the room, with only a toilet and a sink and a sheet of polished metal in place of a mirror. He avoids looking at himself as he does his business but he catches his own eye as he’s washing his hands and he’s forced to stop to reorient himself.

His name is Lance, he knows that as well as he knows that he’s the Blue Paladin of Voltron. But he’s also Gabriella, a girl who started having dreams and lapses in consciousness because of him and as far as he knows from Gabriella’s perspective, Voltron doesn’t exist.

“You are Gabriella,” he tells himself at a whisper, if only to keep her safe. “That future doesn’t exist. That world,” he has to swallow the truth, “doesn’t exist.”

Manicured nails grip the edge of the sink. The face that stares back is similar enough to his own that it easy to forget it’s not. Brown skin, brown hair, blue eyes. But her nose is a little bit wider, chin just slightly rounder, and her brows are just that much thicker that he wishes he has a pair of tweezers to fix them.

He tries not to think about the hair that goes past his shoulders.

“You are Gabriella,” he repeats. “I,” he has to swallow again, “am Gabriella.”

The water is still running.

He thrusts his hands under the tap and rinses the rest of the suds off. It squeaks when he turns it closed.

His hands drip when he returns to his side of the room to get dressed. He can’t bring himself to care. They dry as he pulls a fresh outfit out his designated drawers, a plain shirt and simple jeans followed by… a bra and underwear. His time spent as Gabriella holds his quickest change times yet.

He’s back in the bathroom after making his bed with a small collection of lotions and creams when someone finally comes to retrieve him, a pattern he’s kept consistent since he woke up here. One he doesn’t think would be a good idea to change now that he’s so entrenched.

Lauren Montgomery knocks on the bedroom door before her head peaks into the bathroom and it was her face that set everything in stone for him. He remembers her as an instructor. One of the crew that had gone to Ganymede. But somewhere along the way a different choice was made and it led to her looking at him through the mirror every morning with a face aged by a different kind of stress. Fawn brown hair is pulled into a loose ponytail instead of the stern bun he’s used to and hazel eyes watch him without a scar over one lid.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks as he lowers the soft cloth he was using to dry his face.

“You remind me of one of my aunts,” he says, doesn’t focus on how high his voice is, and it’s not a lie, exactly, he’s thought it before. “She’s always checking on me whenever the family’s all together.” Gabriella only has one aunt though. Had, actually. He feels the sting of grief for a woman he knew and loved yet didn’t and he knows Lauren catches it by the way her face falls.

“I’m sorry,” she offers and Lance is thankful that she keeps her hands at her side. “How long?”

“A year.” _Oh._ That’s why he feels so empty today.

The smile Lauren gives him is soft, understanding and instead of continuing the train she says, “Breakfast is here,” and for that, Lance is thankful. He doesn’t want to dig through the deepest thoughts and feelings of a girl he’s forced to act as.

“I’ll be right out,” he says. He gives his face another pass with the cloth to get the last bits of water he can feel by his hairline and under his chin. Lauren ducks out as he’s lifting his head back up and he can hear her lingering as he ties his hair up. She waits for him to gathers his supplies and put them away and when Lance finally joins her, she glances at his feet.

“Socks?”

“I didn’t feel like shoes today.”

She nods with a good natured smile. “C’mon,” she gestures with her head and leads them out the door, “let me get your vitals and meds and then you can eat.” Lance sighs but it’s half hearted. Another part of the routine. “There’s also a newcomer today,” Lauren continues as if she didn’t hear anything, “he arrived last night. A bit withdrawn, understandably, but we’re hoping you can help bring him out of his shell.”

“I’ll do my best,” Lance salutes as they round the corner. Then his step falters.  He sees the hair first and he has to wonder _how_ , across all the universes and realities, someone can have the same hair as _him_. He forgets, for a moment, the position he’s in and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“You call that a hairstyle? The eighties called and they want it back.”

The owner of that hair jumps in his seat and twists around in his chair with an eerily familiar glare. “It’s not a mullet!” he snaps and Lance is already smirking just from the similarity.

“I didn’t say it was but if that’s what you want to call it, go ahead,” he replies and the smirk grows when the boy grits his teeth and goes back to his food. Victory. Then he remembers that it’s not actually Keith, just someone who looks strikingly like him and Lance probably shouldn’t treat him like he is. The others, Dani, Geoff, and Amilee, are watching with varying levels of interest. Lance ignores them.

He sits at the table in his usual spot which puts the Keith look-a-like on his left and Lauren is sliding a tray and an unimpressed eye at him just as he’s settled. He shrugs at her, a little sheepish and waits for Tim, another familiar face in an unfamiliar place, to come up behind him with the monitor before he eats. The squeak of the wheels precede him and Lance holds his arm out in the empty space on his other side, ready.

“Eager this morning,” Tim comments with a laugh and Lance looks up at the blond haired, blue eyed man he remembers as a TA. The blood pressure cuff is wrapped around his arm along with the heart monitor on his finger and a few button presses later the cuff starts to inflate.

“I just want to eat,” Lance whines and Tim shuts him up by shoving the thermometer in his mouth. Lance huffs through his nose.

“Allow me to make it faster, then,” he says and Lance can’t really say anything to that. The new guy is watching out of the corner of his eye and Lance can tell he’s smiling around his cereal. Lance’s eyes narrow. He wants to say something so bad. He glances at the monitor, the cuff on his arm, then back to the new guy and huffs again.

It feels like forever before the stupid thing beeps and Tim takes everything off of him. As soon as the thermometer is gone he takes a breath, ready to burst, but the new guy gets there first.

“Of course the only way to shut you up is to stick something in your mouth,” he says. Lance gapes and the table bursts into laughter.

Geoff on the far end accidentally sprays his coffee through his nose and all over his beard and Amilee across from them is pounding the wood as she tries to swallow her food right. Dani is the loudest and she has to put everything down to avoid spilling anything. Tim pats him on the shoulder as he leaves and Lance sputters.

“I am appalled,” he says with false outrage and a hand on his chest, “appalled and affronted! You dare come into my home and insult me in front of my friends, I should have you put away!”

“Sorry to tell you but someone else beat you to the punch,” New Guy gestures to the room with his spoon, “I’m surprised you didn’t notice.” Then his head tilts and something like amusement and an opportunity sparks in his eye. “Though I guess I shouldn’t be since you called this place your home.”

“Alright, enough. Gabi, take your meds,” Lauren cuts in before they can get any more heated and it takes Lance a second to recognise the mindset he’s slipped into. Right. Not Keith. He takes the little plastic dish with his three pills on the bottom along with the cup of juice and swallows them down.

“Now maybe you can actually introduce yourselves,” Lauren suggests when she takes the waste away and Lance can feel his ears heat.

“R-right.” New Guy is still watching but the mild irritation is gone and he looks about as unsettled as Lance feels. Something tickles at the edge of his mind at that but he pushes it aside for the moment.

“Gabriella Espinosa,” he introduces, the name still weird on his tongue, and sticks out his hand. “I came here six months ago.” The angle is awkward because they’re both sitting next to each other but New Guy takes his hand with a smile.

“Akira Shirogane,” he says, “got here last night.” Lance tries not to react to the name and he thinks he manages pretty well when he smiles back but there’s something in the way the newly named Akira’s lips twitch that makes him think maybe he didn’t. Lance doesn’t dwell on it though. He just settles back in his chair and tucks into his food.

“Call me Gabi,” he says as he sets about preparing his cereal. After a moment of hesitation, Akira replies in kind.

“My brother calls me Kira,” he says and Lance can’t help but to imagine Shiro in his Garrison days with Keith as his ever present shadow. Except they’re both younger in his mind’s eye and then he’s wondering what it would be like to grow up with Shiro as a brother.

Probably pretty nice if that’s the way Akira looks every time he’s mentioned. Wistfully happy and less stressed and Lance’s smile grows tighter when he sees it. “Nice to meet you, Kira.”

* * *

 It’s the weekend, Lance remembers when breakfast is cleared away and Lauren takes Akira upstairs to her office. He finally looks at the white board with the week’s schedule and frowns at it. Just an optional group session after lunch and the rest of the day is free. Boring.

He blinks at the board for another minute then turns away to go back to his room. Amilee is already sitting at her desk, her array of coloured pens and markers spread across the surface as she works on yet another mandala. Long, straw blonde hair covers her face. Lance says the barest of greetings and gathers his notebook from the drawer. He double checks the pen hooked in the spiral binding then walks back out of the room. Amilee says nothing.

Thankfully, the sun is out when Lance pushes into the courtyard and the park table is empty. Probably not for long because Dani likes to sit outside when the weather is nice but Lance intends to make the most of whatever alone time he can get. He can already feel his thoughts drifting and his fingers are itching for his pen.

He practically throws himself on the bench and flips to the next blank page. He clicks his pen once, twice, five times then loses count when his vision blurs and doubles like he’s had one too many drinks. He sinks into it. Lets himself drift with every breath that heaves in his chest and then he’s staring at the back of a man in a room as familiar as the facility he now lives in.

The room is bathed in orange, balcony doors open to allow the breeze in with the setting sun. Kynan sits at the edge of the bed, hunched over and pulling at one of his braids as he mutters under his breath. Lance shifts and Kynan’s pointed ears twitch before he turns to look at him.

“Alleyn,” he breathes, relief evident. Lance reaches for him, following the instinct of Alleyn within him, and Kynan shifts closer. Lance traces the blue mark under his eye that looks violet in the light with his thumb and Kynan presses even closer.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says for Alleyn as he stares into the glow of Kynan’s grey eyes, “getting shot was never part of the plan. How long was I out for?”

“The pod released you 4 vargas after you went in,” Kynan tells him, “Coran was there so you wouldn’t fall on your face and he brought you here. It’s been a quintant since then.” He pauses and looks away for a split second where he pulls the corner of his lip between his teeth. Lance smoothes over it with his thumb.

“What are you thinking, love?” he prompts and attempts to sit up so Kynan doesn’t have to keep leaning. But Kynan’s hand is on his chest before he’s even turned enough to gain leverage and he’s sinking to the bed instead. His hand shifts once he’s down to the scarred wound over his stomach, hidden by cloth but Kynan knows its location as well as Lance does.

“I’ve been reading while you were gone,” Kynan says, trying to go for nonchalance but Lance can see the nervous twitch in his brow. “I ended up finding a book on old marriage ceremonies.” Lance knows immediately which book Kynan is talking about because Alleyn knows. Alleyn’s read it and dreamed about it since he was a child and Lance uses his other hand to take Kynan’s as he pulls him closer.

“That’s a dangerous ceremony to try,” he says as he presses their foreheads together. But he doesn’t feel nervous. He knows the risks and the dangers. There’s a chance of death but Alleyn was dying in Kynan’s arms a quintant ago and if Kynan was reading it before that and is bringing it up now, Lance and Alleyn are willing to take the chance.

“You know it?” Kynan asks. His voice is as soft as the breath that brushes across his lips. Lance nods.

“I’m royalty, I have to,” he says with a grin and giggles when Kynan’s fingers press into his ribs. The smile Kynan gives him is as soft as the rest of him. “I’ll be honest, I’ve been thinking about it since we got married,” Lance admits to Kynan’s widening eyes, “and even more since the war started. We as Team Voltron are trying our best but it’s a work in progress. We’re only just starting to work together.” He pauses and makes sure Kynan is paying attention by pressing a little more urgently against his cheek.

“We’re not going to survive this war,” he predicts with grim certainty. Kynan’s fingers twitch on his stomach then his arm is sliding around him and they’re both pressed flush together. Kynan tucks his head under Lance’s chin and Lance swallows before he kisses the top of his head.

“Even in death,” Kynan promises against his throat. The words echo strangely in his head.

“Beyond death into life,” Lance accepts. Even his own voice is starting to sound funny.

“With every birth of a soul.”

“And last breath of a star.”

The room is swimming, the dying orange light of the sunset blending with the sheer curtain as it lifts into the air on a burst of wind. Kynan says something else but Lance can’t hear it. He can barely feel Kynan’s arms around him anymore. He’s vaguely aware of Alleyn answering without him there and when he breathes, it’s suddenly the humid summer air again. His pen clatters against the wood as he clutches the edge of the table and gasps for breath.

The pages of his notebook spread before him are filled top to bottom with writing. With a trembling hand, he flips back and counts three more spreads before he rests his head on his arms. Blindly, he slaps around for his pen just so he has something to hold on to.

There’s a purpose to these visions, Lance knows, but he’s not sure what yet. He doesn’t know why it’s Alleyn whose eyes he’s seeing through or why he’s even seeing him at all but he’ll do everything he can in order to hold on to it. It’s the only thing that proves he’s not going insane even if the people around him think otherwise.

He lifts his head and flips back to where he started. The words are foreign to him, like always, but he thinks he’s started to figure out a pattern to the Altean lettering that fills his pages. Like that one there, he notes as he underlines it and any repeats of the same sequence of letters. He doesn’t know the sounds that apply to them but he’s willing to bet it’s either Kynan’s name or Alleyn’s given how often it shows up.

Lance sits up and thumbs through the rest of the book. Kynan’s probably. He stops at a page and finds the name there six times. Kynan and Alleyn, royal guard and prince of the Altean throne. He wonders briefly if Allura had any other family before everything then shakes the thought away.

“Morning, Gabi.”

Lance jumps and his pen goes skittering across the table to fall and bounce off the bench and into the grass. Dani laughs from the door, her fire-red hair gleaming in the sun and comes over to pick it up.

“Sorry about that, didn’t mean to surprise you,” she says as she hands it over. Lance accepts it with a sheepish grin.

“Don’t worry about it, I was just thinking. I knew you were going to be here eventually.” His own fault for getting lost in thought.

“I’m just that predictable, huh?” Dani jokes. “Well, in line with that predictability, I’m going to sit over there and read,” she points to the patio set with its large umbrella. “My sister sent me a new book and it promises to be a good one.”

“Let me know if I should read it,” Lance suggests as Dani turns away with a wave.

“I’ll let you know if the sex is good,” she offers back and Lance feels the heat in his face immediately. When she reaches the lounge chair Lance is still red and she laughs as he bends his head to his notebook.

* * *

Akira finds him near lunch time. Lance can smell chicken and spice wafting from the kitchens. He’s sitting in the lounge on the floor in front of one of the coffee tables with a newer notebook along with the one full of Altean in his lap. Akira hovers at the edge of the table, his nerves evident in the the small shuffle of his feet.

“You can sit,” Lance tells him and Akira hesitates before sinking to the ground as well. Lance glances at him but Akira is staring at his own hands on the table and Lance goes back to trying to copy down each different letter he can find in the mess of Altean in his lap. It’s hard when he refuses to cross anything out on the original and he curses when he scans the list and realizes he’s written the same one out three times and another twice.

Written Altean is syllabic, that much Lance remembers from trying to read it back on the castleship. But the intuitive knowledge he had from Blue doesn’t apply here. He can’t stare at a word and get the gist of it anymore. It’s a lot like Japanese or Korean, he’s realized and-

“Are you writing a code?”

Lance looks up and Akira has leaned closer, eyes intent on the paper and when Lance realizes, his hand slaps over the list. Akira jerks back, immediately apologetic in his actions and expression but he doesn’t say anything. Just watches him. Waiting.

“Sort of,” Lance admits and his eyes dart around the room. Dani and Geoff are on the other side, a game of chess between them as they talk quietly. He hasn’t seen Amilee since breakfast. What are the chances of this guy ratting him out? Has anyone even ‘warned’ him about ‘Gabriella’s extensive delusions’?

He eyes Akira and decides not to take the chance. “It’s confusing, I haven’t really thought all of it out,” Lance tells him as he draws the notebook closer to himself.  A second later both of them are closed. Akira blinks and leans back a bit.

“I could… help?” he offers, clearly unsure of himself.

“I don’t need your help for this,” Lance denies, “you probably wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

“Well, if you explain it to me-”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Lance cuts him off, “because you’re not ‘ _helping_ ’ me with this. Not that I need any help in the first place.” Akira is frowning now, thick brows drawn together in an expression confusion that even _feels_ like Keith. Lance doesn’t want to look at it.

“Why are you-”

“Did Lauren put you up to this?” Lance doesn’t even want to hear him speak. “Did she tell you all about me in hopes that you’d become the friend I need? Because I don’t.” Akira’s stopped trying to talk but he’s still sitting in front of Lance looking hopelessly confused and a little bit angry. “I’ve been here for six months, I don’t need a friend and I don’t want one.”

_Come on, get angry._

But Akira doesn’t get angry. He looks to Dani and Geoff who have paused in their conversation to pay attention to them. Lance bristles and stands up hard enough to knock the table. Akira startles and leans back on his hand, looking back to the table then up at him.

“Are you like this to everyone who tries to be nice?” he asks and there’s the anger Lance has been searching for.

“Only the ones that are suspicious.”

“I just got here!”

“So did everybody else, once upon a time,” Lance says and suddenly Akira’s anger is gone and replaced by concern. Lance wants to punch him.

“I’m leaving,” Lance says. He doesn’t look at anyone as he strides from the room. Akira doesn’t stop him and he hears Dani sigh.

“Don’t take it to heart,” he hears Dani say. He can just _imagine_ the expression of pity they’re all wearing. “She hasn’t let anyone near her books since Katie.”

Lance bites his lip and walks faster. He doesn’t hear if Akira says anything. If he wasn’t told before, he’s going to be told now. Gabriella Espinosa, the girl who dreamed of aliens and a war in space and appeared to be possessed by a demon overnight.

Amilee looks up when he enters the room, brown eyes wide and brows raised in surprise. She starts gathering her pens when he practically throws his notebooks on his desk. She doesn’t say anything - never says anything, really - and Lance ignores her and shuts himself in the bathroom instead. He turns the taps on full blast just so he has some sort of noise and sinks to the floor in front of the door.

Amilee’s quiet when she leaves but their door squeals a bit at a certain angle and Lance hears it over the rush of water. She actually closed the door this time. Lance clutches his knees to his chest and buries his face in the space between them.

Never before has Lance wanted the real Keith next to him the way he does now. He wants the familiar banter and companionship. He wants the quiet support and the knowledge that his back is always covered. He wants those sly smiles between playful jabs and the drive to do better - _be_ better. He wants - _he wants -_

… He wants too much.

Lance knows, objectively, who Akira is like he knows who he is. Like he knows who Gabi is. _Like he knows who Katie was._

He never wanted to hear that name again.

But Lance can’t stop the memories. He remembers that first burst of hope when he first laid eyes on her. He’d already been here for a month, endlessly confused and wanting to go home but with no way of knowing how. He had embraced that hope and took a leap of faith. He trusted where he saw a familiar face and believed that maybe she’d been just like him, out of body, out of place, out of time.

Turns out she was just Katie. A girl with a missing brother and severe manic depression. Lance found her in the showers after a week.

Lance won’t take that chance again. He digs his nails into his skin. _He won’t. He refuses._

There’s a dim horror that’s surfacing as he realizes that Keith’s counterpart is here with him. He hasn’t seen anyone else from his team since Katie which means, through some manner of course, Akira has displayed severe enough symptoms of _something_ to be admitted here. It further cements in Lance’s mind that this reality got severely fucked up somewhere along the way.

Or maybe this is the way it’s supposed to be where everybody stays on Earth and Lance really did dream up travelling to space and fighting with Voltron. Maybe his entire personality is an elaborate lie that Gabriella imagined to escape the loneliness and eventually duped herself into believing.

Pidge never existed and Lance pressed Katie into escaping the only way she knew how. Keith never existed and now Lance is projecting an imagined person onto another innocent. Maybe-

The sound of someone knocking is louder than he expects and Lance flinches hard. He hisses when his elbow hits the door and Lauren calls from the other side. “Gabi,” she sounds worried, “can you hear me?” Lance purposely knocks his elbow against the wood this time. The noise he tries to make in his throat get stuck. “Can you turn off the water for me?” The water?

Lance looks up just in time to see it start to drip over the edge of the sink. Quickly, it goes to pouring and Lance scrambles to his feet. He ends up splashing a good amount to the floor before he gets to the taps and his shirt and jeans are soaked down the front. His socks are drenched.

His hands can’t stop shaking. He clings to the sink.

Lauren comes up behind him, a question on her face as she raises her hands. Lance squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.

“Okay, “ Lauren says and she lets them lower, “why don’t you go sit down and I’ll bring you a towel and a trazodone. Do you want to take one right now?” It’s probably a good idea. Lance nods. “Alright,” Lauren accepts, “go sit down, I’ll be right back.”

Lance waits until after she leaves before he moves. He sways when he lets go of the sink but manages to keep his feet under him and, slowly, he makes his way out of the bathroom. As much as he wants to sit on the bed, Lance knows it’s not a good idea drenched as he is. So he pulls the desk chair out and drops into it. He takes a second to breathe then tugs his socks off. Then his shirt and it’s while he’s dithering about taking off his pants that Lauren comes back.

She has a mop trailing behind her and she leaves it by the bathroom before she crosses the room to him. “Here,” she offers, handing him the white towel draped over her arm. She sets down the glass of water on the desk along with the pale orange pill in its little plastic cup. Lance stares at it as he starts to pat himself dry.

“Can I only take half?” he asks, his voice rough, “I don’t want to sleep right now.” He looks at her out of the corner of his eye and she’s making that face where she doesn’t exactly agree with the idea but isn’t going to say no either. “I’ll take the rest after lunch, I promise.”

“Okay,” she allows the compromise and Lance takes the pill between his fingers. It tastes disgusting when he bites it in half and the aftertaste is still there after he washes it down. He doesn’t exaggerate the way his face twists.

“Will you be joining group today?” Lauren asks as she heads for the bathroom and takes up the mop. Lance shakes his head.

“I think I’m gonna… remember, today,” he tells her. “I’m not… good company right now.”

Lauren stops halfway through the door. “If you need to talk, I’m here,” she offers, “it’s what I’m here for.”

Lance nods once and swallows hard. “May-” he has to clear his throat, “maybe later.”

Lauren nods as well and ducks into the bathroom to clean up his mess. “You should finish getting changed,” she reminds him through the door, “those jeans can’t be comfortable.”

They’re not but Lance hadn’t really been focusing on them. He leans to the side and pulls a pair of loose sweatpants and another shirt from the drawers before he stands to peel his jeans off. He’s immediately cold, the water having soaked through down to the ankle and he rubs himself down with the towel before slipping into warm cotton.

He considers the discarded outfit spread at his feet for a moment before he collects it and throws it into his basket. The sound of the mop being wrung out carries out of the bathroom and Lance cringes guiltily. He should probably help. He shoves his feet into his slippers then practically jogs across the room.

The mop hits the floor with a wet slap as Lauren goes about collecting the water that had spread towards the toilet with a gentle hum. Lance bites his lip and hesitates. She looks at him to acknowledge his presence but doesn’t stop what she’s doing.

“Are you good to eat lunch with us?” she asks, a bit of her melody stuck in her words.

Lance didn’t think so before but he feels he might be able to handle a bit of social now. If Akira didn’t try to question his outburst, anyway. “I think so?” Lauren raises a brow at the question in his tone. “Yes. Yeah, I’m good. For a little bit at least.” Lauren wrings out the mop again.

“Your aunt must’ve been a wonderful person,” she says. Lance chokes.

“Ah, yeah. She-” He looks away, “she would always call me up every now and then for an update.” She would call Gabriella, not him. “I’m the only kid in my generation on my mother’s side to she liked to dote on me. I-” his eyes are burning, “I would spend a whole two weeks with her every summer at her cottage and I just-” He didn’t want to do this, why is he doing this? “ _I miss her_. It’s been a year and I still-” Why is he still talking?

“The phone will ring and for a moment I’ll forget. I’ll think, ‘That’s Auntie Mira,’ before I remember and it’s like that day never ended.” He gasps a breath, his face hot with unshed tears and Lance hurriedly wipes them away with his sleeve. Goddamn, he’s a wreck.

“Hey, hey,” Lauren has abandoned the mop and she’s holding out her hands. An offering, she’s always offering. Lance crosses his arms around himself in a pseudo hug. “I’m sorry,” her hands stay out, “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“It’s fine,” Lance says and shakes his head, “I just- _I loved her_. My mother tries but it’s not-” He tries to blink away the tears but they slip out anyway. His hand darts up with the sleeve to catch them again. It’s then that he realizes what’s happening.

This is actually Gabriella trying to speak. This is her trying to release her grief and longing. Much like his visions of Alleyn, he can feel her intentions itching under the surface and it’s then that he finally lets go. He stops holding back. This is the outlet. Gabriella wants to take it.

His arms come out and Lauren is there. Her embrace is warm, all encompassing and despite how much Lance seems to be shaking, she doesn’t let go. She holds him tight as he sobs into her shoulder. Her hand rubs a warm steady line down his spine. She murmurs into his ear gentle comforts that only make him sob harder.

“There you go,” she croons, “just let it out. Your aunt loved you as much as you love her. Just because she’d gone doesn’t mean you have to stop.” Her hand runs through his hair and Lance presses into the touch.

“S-she was the only one who would listen,” he stutters through the tears, “no matter what I said, whether it was stupid or not or if I just wanted to complain, she would listen and mama _doesn’t_ . She just _doesn’t_ do that. She doesn’t realize that when I go to her, it’s not always for a solution but she gives one to me anyway and now I’m here and it feels like her solution was to hand me over so she didn’t have to deal with me. It feels like she doesn’t even want me anymore.”

Gabriella’s pain is acute. A gathering of everything that could have possibly gone wrong in Lance’s life and she’s landed with all of it. She cries and Lance cries as Lauren holds them in the bathroom doorway. He doesn’t think he’s going to lunch.

Lauren brings it to him a bit later once he’s calmed down and his eyes are dry. He eats it lethargically at his desk as she sits next to him and tells him about the places she’s been. She urges him to take the rest of the trazodone after and Lance doesn’t argue. Then she’s gone to oversee group with the others and Lance is alone in his room.

He didn’t know it could be like this with Gabriella just under the surface. It’s a strange feeling to be sitting at his desk and not know if it’s him that’s pulling his notebooks closer or Gabi. He could step back for a day, he muses, let Gabi take control again. Let her have her body back. There’s a feeling of indecision that isn’t his as the books are flipped back open and the pen is taken into hand.

This symbol comes up a lot, she seems to indicate instead by drawing it and continuing his list. Her suggestions for what it could stand for end up scrawled next it.

‘ _Connector → and/or/for ???’_

Lance blinks, startled, and the pen lifts from the page. The handwriting is different from his. It’s angled differently, more acute, and the question marks look like short 7’s, they barely curve.

“Gabi?” he whispers. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on anymore. His fingers twitch and he lowers the pen again. Another character is written followed by possibilities then a sequence and in English, ‘ _Kynan’_. Lance drops the pen and clutches his hands together in his lap.

“Gabi, I need you to talk to me,” he says as he stares blindly at the pages, “thank you, but _please_.” He waits and his breath stutters for a moment in his chest.

Hesitation. Then fear and uncertainty. There’s vague notions of confusion and sorrow, memories Lance realizes, from months ago when he first ‘arrived’. Then a sense of sleeping? Dreaming, almost. There’s loss and more confusion then the complete sense of inability. The fear of inadequacy.

“You don’t know how,” Lance surmises. There’s shame and Lance suddenly really wants to cry again. He breathes through the tightness in his throat and blinks the tears away. “It’s okay,” he says. He brings a hand up to hook around the back of his neck and his other arm clutches across his middle. “It’s okay, Gabi, it’s okay.” He rocks forward and turns his thoughts inward.

_I’ll take care of you, I’ll keep you safe._

Lance swallows hard and lets go long enough to put the notebooks away before he stands and heads towards the bed. He slips between the sheets and presses his face into the pillow. The trazodone is taking effect, he can feel it in the way his thoughts are starting to circle and his eyes are getting heavy.

_It’s okay, Gabi, I hear you now._

There’s apprehension but there’s hope too. His fingers twitch and he holds himself tighter.

_I’ll get us out of this._

His eyes burn again and the pillow dampens beneath his cheek.

_I promise._

* * *

There’s a bank of phones near the kitchen for the residents to call outside the building. Lance stands in front of one on the end, arms crossed against his torso as he grips at his shirt. He hasn’t touched one in weeks after his last disaster of a phone call but the temptation is there. Or rather, Gabi is there and she wants to _try_.

So he steps forward and slowly sinks into the chair. There’s a stack of memo paper and a pencil, slightly askew. Lance fixes it with a nudge of his fingers. Instructions to an outside line are taped to the wall above the phone and Lance stares at them for a solid minute. He knows them by heart after he spent most of an hour going through failed phone call after failed phone call.

He picks up the handset and follows the instructions.

Lance jumps at the first ring then tries to relax in the chair. Gabi is restless in the back of his mind. He ends up hunched over the table, shoulders around his ears with his elbows on the wood and his nails digging into the meat of his arm. His leg is bouncing and he’s about to hang up and try again when someone finally picks up.

They don’t greet him but he’s come to expect that by now. He can still hear them breathing, he knows they’re there. He knows _she’s_ there.

“Hi, mama,” he breathes, unable to hide the shakiness of his voice. The woman on the other end exhales.

“Hi, baby,” she says and Lance can hear the exhaustion in her voice. Good, this is good, he can work with this. She hasn’t completely written him off. His heart is racing.

“I miss you,” he says to the woman who used to be his mother. “I want to see you again.”

“Are you yourself today?” She ignores him. Lance’s breath locks in his throat for an instant. Sort of… ?

“I-I think so…” He switches the phone to his other ear and wipes his hand on his pants. “I just- Today is-” He clears his throat and swallows. “It’s Auntie Mira’s…”

“It’s the anniversary of her death, I know.” She sighs and Lance thinks he can almost hear a smile in her voice when she says, “I miss you too, Gabi.” Lance can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of his throat.

“Can I see you this week, mama?” The question’s out before he can even think, “Will you visit me?” He sounds like a child but he feels so alone and he _wants_. He wants to see her face again even if she’ll barely give him the time of day over the phone.

“We’ll see, sweetheart,” she tells him and Lance feels the excitement wash out of him so fast it leaves his skin pricking. “Your father’s been assigned a new job out of state, we’ll see how he feels about driving in to see you.”

“Mama, please,” Lance lurches in his seat, “I miss you.”

“ _Ladies do not beg_.” Her voice cuts and Lance feels his throat tighten and his eyes burn. He tries to swallow through it.

“I’m sorry, mama.” There’s a long pause. Lance tries not to sob into the receiver. She doesn’t point it out when his breath hitches. His mother sighs again, long and suffering.

“I suppose it was too much to ask for you to tell the truth.”

Lance stares blankly at the wall. The edges of the paper were brown and tearing before they got covered with tape. “Mama?”

“You’re not my daughter.”

“Mama, please.” He can’t see the words on the paper.

“You haven’t been for a long time.”

“I-” Lance doesn’t have words. The tears are streaming down his neck.

“Am I wrong?” Lance closes his eyes to the tears and the world and bows his head. He buries his face in his arm. His grip on the phone is so tight it’s trembling. How can he lie to his own mother?

“ _No._ ”

The silence on the other end is deafening. Lance grits his teeth against the sobs. His… Gabi’s mother shifts, Lance can hear the brush of cloth and the click of a ring against the receiver. The next breath she takes is shaking.

 _But she’s here!_ He wants to say. _Gabi’s still alive and she loves you! She wants to see you too!_ He opens his mouth.

“Do not call me again.” She hangs up. Lance wishes it was loud. Instead it’s the simple click of a line disconnected and Lance is left listening to the dial tone. Lance finally sobs and covers his mouth with his hand. He barely manages to put the receiver back on the hook. He ends up knocking the pencil from the memo pad. He doesn’t care.

Gabriella _yearns_.

“I’m sorry,” he says to the girl who wants to scream and yell and throw. “If I could fix this, I would.” He presses his forehead to the wood and curls up as much as he can. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m so sorry.”

He hiccups then coughs and it’s loud, almost too loud for his own ears. He backs the chair up and curls even further. He can’t be here like this, out in the open. It’s nearly bedtime, someone’s going to see. But he doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t think he can move.

There’s a shadow out of the corner of his eye and he flinches away from it on instinct before it solidifies into Akira. _Why did it have to be Akira_? This is just one more problem he doesn’t want to deal with.

Akira crouches down and his hands come out but he doesn’t wait like Lauren does, he just lays them on Lance’s knee and his shoulder before he can choke out ‘ _don’t_ ’. He trembles under the touch and manages to look Akira in the eye.  Any word of rejection leaves when he does and sees the calm concern there. And more than that, there’s a level of understanding like he’s dealt with this before in some way, shape, or form and every instance just makes him even more willing to help.

His hands haven’t moved from where he’s placed them.

He’s so much like Keith in that instant that Lance just gives in. He doesn’t want to fight right now, he just wants to grieve. The tears burn hot in his eyes and over his cheeks then they’re absorbed by the fabric of Akira’s shirt when he leans close. Or was he pulled, he can’t tell. He can’t tell what anything is right now.

Akira keeps leaning back, his arms steady around Lance’s shoulders so Lance goes with him. He slips off the chair into Akira’s lap and he hears when the chair is kicked aside. “Just let it out,” Akira tells him, tone low and god, when Lance closes his eyes it feels like Keith is there instead. So he pretends. He squeezes his eyes shut and imagines Keith’s arms strong around him and Keith’s fingers as they comb a familiar pattern through his hair. He imagines Keith’s face pressed along side his and Keith’s voice gentle in his ear.

When he hears his name, he thinks it’s a dream.


	2. You and I, Mirrors of Light

Lance wakes up the next morning with a mild headache as the sun shines through large tinted windows. The sheets are stiff, even after being slept in and Lance considers suggesting fabric softener. He cracks his eyes open into the glare of the sun he can feel on his face and scowls at it before turning away towards the door. Lauren stands in the doorway, the monitor at her side and Lance sits up with a weary sigh.

He doesn’t look up when she approaches, just holds his arm out and silently waits as she hooks him up. He can feel his heartbeat in his finger and his arm and his head, a steady tempo that seems to get faster the longer he sits still.

His chest hurts.

She takes the thermometer first but the cuff and clamp on his finger stays. Lauren stares at the screen as she waits for it to finish reading. Lance doesn’t want to stay upright. He want’s to lay down again. His chest hurts and it’s getting harder to breathe. He misses when Lauren shifts to look at him.

Lance swallows hard then gasps out a breath and catches himself against his knee before he falls forward. He twists his fingers into the fabric of his pants. It’s getting hot and he can’t breathe. What breath he can take is loud in his ears.

Everything is shaking.

He shuts his eyes, tries to see if the dark will help but something in his head shifts and he feels suddenly dizzy. Like the world tilted 90 degrees but he knows it didn’t because the ground is still solid and cold under his feet.

His heart lunges in his throat.

He’s going to throw up.

Lance lurches to his feet but he’s still connected to the monitor and the unexpected weight leaves him unbalanced. He staggers and all but collapses to the floor. The velcro of the cuff is muffled when it’s torn off and he thinks he hears the finger clamp clatter on the linoleum but it’s all meaningless compared to how _cold_ the floor is against his skin. He wants to absorb all of it. He wants to take every bit of cold and bury it in his chest.

He’s too hot, he can’t breathe and his chest _hurts_. He wants this to end.

He can’t feel his fingers.

Something - no, some _one_ \- pulls at his arms and pushes at his side until he’s turned over onto his back. But he doesn’t want to be on his back. He can’t feel the cold as well there and he still feels like he’s going to throw up.

Lance _really_ feels like he’s going to throw up.

They get the picture when he lurches away to his side and whatever is still in his stomach ends up spread across the floor. He gasps for a few brief seconds, deeper than before, he notices before his stomach twists again and he’s heaving up even more. He coughs and sobs at the end of it and braces himself against the floor with a trembling arm so he doesn’t end up face planting in the residue.

He’s almost turned completely around, pretty much on his stomach again. But he can breath easier and when Lauren - _yes, that’s Lauren_ \- gently takes him by the shoulders and guides him backwards, Lance goes with her.

“There you are,” she murmurs when he whines and Lance closes his eyes when cool fingers brush his hair from his face. His back is braced against her chest, his head on her shoulder and her other hand comes around to wipe his face with a soft damp cloth.

“W-hat?” He tries to swallow the taste of bile in the back of his throat. He feels hot and cold at the same time and he tries to suppress the shaking but it only seems to be making it worse. He flexes his fingers a few times then clenches them into fists.

“No, no,” Lauren takes one of his hands in hers and rolls his fingers open. Lance tries to let the other do the same. “You’re having a panic attack,” she tells him right as someone tears what he thinks are paper towels and every muscle in him jumps.

“Sorry, sorry,” someone else apologizes, their voice hushed. Lance can barely recognize it. One of the part time staff, he thinks but he doesn’t want them there. He doesn’t want them to see. His breath picks up and he struggles against Lauren’s hold but his limbs are weak and the hand holding his lets go to run calming lines down his side.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re safe,” she says, “I just need you to breathe with me. Can you do that?” She takes a deep breath to demonstrate, low in her chest Lance can feel and he tries to follow it but the air is forced out too soon and he’s back to gasping.

“I-I c-can-t.” He struggles to get it out but he manages, even if it ends more as a hiss. He tries to open his eyes but the light has turned the paint blinding and he has to squeeze them shut.

“I know it’s hard but you need to keep trying,” Lauren says. “Does the dark help?” He gets a single nod against her shoulder and immediately the hand in his hair comes down to cover his eyes. “We’re going to count, okay?” She tells him, “four in, three hold, and five out. Short ones and we’ll work to longer ones.” Lance nods again. Her hand presses under his chest, near his stomach and Lance automatically tries to direct his breathing there.

Then she counts and Lance does his best to follow. In, two, three, and his breath goes up instead of down. Hold, two, and everything rushes out in an instant. “That’s alright, again,” she says and counts at the same steady pace. In, two, three, four, he gets it that time. Hold, two, three, and he’s shaking but he gets that too. Out, two, oh. Everything’s gone.

Lauren’s voice is constant along with the gentle weight on his stomach and the hold over his eyes. Again, she prompts. So Lance does. Again and again with longer periods of breathing until his fingers stop tingling and he feels like dead weight. His eyes flutter against Lauren’s fingers and they lift away.

“Wh-what was…?” He blinks at the stucco ceiling.

“You had a panic attack,” Lauren says. She relaxes against the bed frame but doesn’t pull away. Lance continues to blink at the ceiling.

“I’ve never… had… ” He frowns. He’s… very tired for just waking up. Lauren runs her fingers through his hair and Lance relaxes even further under her touch.

“I’m honestly surprised you haven’t had one before,” she says. Lance swallows and the back of his throat itches with the taste of bile. He wants water. He swallows again then coughs a bit to clear his throat.

“Here,” Lauren shifts and Lance has to lift his head to see what she’s offering. It’s a glass of water in an actual glass, he’s surprised to see, and he raises a heavy hand to take it. He sips it because his throat feels raw and it’s doing little to soothe it. Lauren rubs her hand down his arm and Lance sighs into the glass.

“‘M sorry,” he says. His voice sticks and cracks. Lauren clicks her tongue.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she tells him. Lance takes another sip. “You had a very stressful day yesterday, it’s understandable.”

Lance wants to say he’s had worse, more painful days but… nothing’s coming to mind that would be worse than being rejected by his mother. His fingers tighten on the glass and he sets it down before he spills it.

Lauren’s fingers are in his hair again, combing up the back then smoothing back down. Lance leans into them, revels in the touch for one last brief moment before he pulls away. He stands slowly and Lauren rises steadily behind him. Her hand lingers on his shoulder before she lets go.

His puddle of sick in the middle of the floor is covered in paper towels but the other nurse that was there is gone. The roll sits on Amilee’s desk. He wrinkles his nose and turns away. Lauren is watching him, gauging his reactions. He looks at the monitor.

The blood pressure cuff rests discarded on the floor and the heart monitor is still swaying gently from when Lance had tried to pull the whole thing with him. He looks back at Lauren and holds out his arm.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says. Something in her expression falls. It’s hidden a second later, though, and Lauren turns to gather everything together. Lance sits on the edge of the bed again and Lauren hooks him back up.

“Your doctor is going to talk to you about this on Wednesday,” she tells him. Lance nods as he stares at Amilee’s bed, once again unmade. “If you want, I can be there with you.” He considers it for a moment but Gabriella, half aware still, says no. There’s a downturn to her emotions and it feels like both of them are in control when he shakes his head.

“I’ll be okay by then,” he says when she takes the thermometer.

“If you change your mind, I’m here.” Lance looks at her and Lauren stares back unwavering. After a moment, he nods. Lauren smiles and raises her hand as if to pat him on the head or the shoulder. But there’s a brief second of hesitation then she directs her hand to the clipboard instead and records the numbers on the monitor. Lance doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed but he leaves his face carefully blank.

She leaves him after making sure he takes his meds and directs him towards breakfast in the dining room. And while he’s hungry, Lance doesn’t really want to go. Aside from the hunger, his stomach still feels funny. Tense, really, and part of him says it’s not actually his stomach that feels that way but something else. His ribs? He rubs at the area, trying to mimic Lauren’s hand from earlier but it’s not really working.

A soft knock on his door has him looking up and he sees another nurse there. The same one as before, he assumes, and Lance stands and heads towards the door. “I’ll just… get out of your way,” he murmurs and brushes past him.

Once he’s a few yards down the hall, he realizes how much his room reeked and wrinkles his nose at the scent that continues to cling to his shirt. He should’ve changed before he left. He pulls the collar up just to see how bad it is and barely swallows down the gag. He hopes everyone has already eaten and gone.

Lance turns the corner and no such luck, apparently. Dani and Geoff are still there, trading pages of the Sunday paper between bites of egg and toast and Lance can only hope now that they don’t comment. At least they both look like they just rolled out of bed as well. Geoff’s hair sticks up every which way like a dinged up halo and pieces of Dani’s braid have pulled loose to drift around her face.

Lance bites his lip and pulls a seat at the opposite end. He pulls his tray from his usual spot by the corner and ignores the looks as he uncovers his plate of unseasoned eggs and limp bacon. Four packets of salt and pepper lay next to it and he tears them all open onto his plate. He hears the rustle of the paper and the scrape of Geoff’s fork as he scoops up the last of his food. Dani clears her throat.

Lance looks up automatically and when he meets Dani’s gaze, he can’t look away. For someone who’s confined to a mental facility, the woman seems to be perpetually smiling but aside from that, her face is relatively neutral. She holds up the newspaper then gestures to a second copy in the middle of the table.

“Check out the national section, they found some neat stuff in the desert,” she says and waves her page around a bit more. Lance glances at the paper then down to his food as he picks up his fork. For being in the middle of the table, it’s still a ways away from him and he doesn’t want to get any closer to either of them.

“I’ll look at it later,” he promises as he cuts into his egg. The yolk spills over and he picks up a slice of toast to dip a corner into it. “I want to eat then go have a shower first.” Dani nods and goes back to the article she was reading.

“Good, you smell like you need it.”

Lance bristles at the tone, achingly familiar and reacts instinctively. “You try throwing up and see if you come out smelling like daisies!” he bursts, looking up at Akira who’s also just coming in to sit down. Geoff sighs as Dani drops her paper to put her face in her hand. Akira blinks at him for the moment that Lance glares him down before Lance flushes red and turns back to his food.

Akira sits in the seat to his right as Lance spears an egg with his fork, yolk spreading everywhere. Lance doesn’t know how he can take the smell given he can barely stand it himself. Tim comes up behind them and Akira’s tray is placed in front of him.

“Sorry,” Akira murmurs as he uncovers his own plate of eggs, bacon, and toast. Lance huffs into his food but he can feel his shoulders relax.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. Akira nods then picks up his fork. Lance watches out of the corner of his eye as Akira ignores the salt and pepper completely and cuts a bite out of the egg. His nose wrinkles but he goes back to his own food. If the boy wants to eat the blandest shit ever he can go right ahead.

A couple minutes later, Akira hesitates between bites and Lance has to stop making faces out of bits of bacon and egg on his plate. He realizes a second later that Dani and Geoff have left the room though he can still hear them walking down the hall. Their steps echo strangely in his ears.

“I wanted to ask,” Akira starts as his eyes dart around the table, all to avoid looking at Lance, “um, last night, at the phones.” Lance frowns but waits for him to continue as he flexes his fingers.

“I only really heard the end but,” Akira hesitates again and Lance looks at the clock on the wall next to the door. “Were you talking to your mom?”

“My mom?” Lance echoes as he counts the minutes to when he thinks he took his meds. His fingers itch for his pen.

“Yeah, last night. You were crying,” Akira says. How long was he sitting on his bed for? Ten minutes? Twenty? Lance needs to leave.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Lance says because he can’t remember what Akira just said. He gets to his feet and hopes he can make it to his room.

“What? I cradled you in my arms!” Akira shouts at his back. Lance doesn’t stop. He nearly smacks face first into the corner in his hurry to get away.

“Nope! Don’t remember!” Lance calls back and if Akira says anything else, Lance isn’t sticking around to hear it. His heart is racing and he can barely keep his vision focused. He lurches into his room and barely remembers to swing the door shut behind him before he nearly crashes into his desk.

He scrambles for his notebook, fighting the draw of the vision with every breath and beat of his heart. His vision trembles and doubles and there’s a voice? Or the idea of a voice that’s echoing in his ears.

_Let go._

Lance gasps and his pen slips through his fingers - off his desk - as the room fades from his senses. Instead he’s running through familiar halls with excitement bursting in his chest. The teal-blue lights of the castleship zip by as he races towards the library, unable to keep the grin from his face. The doors are open when he arrives and Lance bursts into the room shouting.

“Kynan! My love! My sweet! She’s here! She’s finally here!” He descends to the lower level of the library in a flurry of waving arms and trailing robes. Kynan is already grinning as he looks up from his book, Alleyn’s excitement contagious to the extreme.

“I take it the birthing went well then,” he surmises as Lance takes his face between his hands and plants a kiss on his brow then his cheek then his nose and finally his lips. He comes out laughing and Lance laughs with him as he settles in the chair next to him.

“She’s beautiful, Kynan! Absolutely gorgeous! Just wait until you see her, you’re going to love her,” Lance gushes. He’s practically vibrating in his seat and he can feel how overwhelmed Alleyn is even though it’s not even his child. Kynan reaches over to pull him closer.

“Did you bring me a picture?” he asks as Lance wraps his arms around Kynan’s shoulders and buries his face in his neck. Dark hair tickles his nose but he doesn't care. Alleyn needs to hold his husband. Kynan’s hand comes up the rest on his head as it shakes before he lifts it and rests his chin on Kynan’s shoulder.

“You have to see her in person first for maximum appreciation,” he decides and grips Kynan tighter. He can feel Alleyn’s tears burn at the corner of his eyes and doesn't even try to blink them away. He’s still grinning, still ecstatic, but a sob comes out when he doesn't expect it and Kynan turns to hold him even closer. “She's so good, Kynan, she’s going to be great. A true princess of Altea.”

Kynan is laughing as he kisses his temple. “Only you could full on bawl with happiness. Where was this when we got married?”

“I cried in the bathroom,” he says through the tears, “Alfor was there. He even has pictures, the jerk. But jokes on him because I just got pictures of him crying too hard to even hold his kid properly. Ha!”

Kynan laughs harder then and pulls away so Lance can wipe his face. “This is it then?” he asks as Lance uses his sleeve to wipe at his eyes, “We’re going home?”

Lance nods and smiles, eyes still wet. “The first princess in a millennium needs to be raised on her home planet, don’t you think?”

“What, the stars aren’t good enough for her? Space is too plebeian?” Kynan teases and Lance smacks his shoulder.

“No! Don’t even try to be an ass right now, you’re as obvious as a weblum,” he reprimands and Kynan relents graciously as he crowds close and kisses him on the corner of his eye.

“Yes, you’re right, of course,” he says and pulls Lance up with him as he stands. “We must all be gracious before the new heir. Everyone has to be on their best behaviour from now on. That means no causing trouble, no name calling, no swearing and absolutely no roughhousing in the bedroom-”

“Kynan!”

“By decree of the new princess of Altea,” he finishes. Lance socks him in the gut and Kynan doubles over with a wheeze that melts into laughter.

“Let’s go,” Lance turns away with his head raised high but a grin still tugs at his lips. Alleyn’s pure happiness feels never ending. “Lyra, won’t wait forever.”

“Alright, alright,” Kynan agrees, a little breathless and falls into step beside him. “Your strength is returning,” he notes as he rubs at his stomach.

“Of course it is,” Lance agrees and punches the air for demonstration only to overbalance and trip over his foot. He corrects himself but Kynan’s hand still reaches out for him and Lance hooks his arm under his elbow once he’s steady again. “You have me doing exercises three times a quintant.”

“I still think you should be doing more,” Kynan says and Lance feels Alleyn’s exasperation as purely as if it were his own.

“Still doesn’t mean I’m going to,” Lance reminds as they start climbing the stairs out of the library. “But let’s not get into that right now. You have a princess to greet. A new royal to pledge your service to.”

“I’ve already pledged my service to a royal,” Kynan states as he squeezes Lance’s arm, “and I will again for all eternity.”

Heat burns up the back of Lance’s neck and he feels it in the tips of his ears. The lines of the room are getting fuzzy as he grins. “Soon,” he promises, barely able to hear himself and Kynan pulls his hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. He doesn’t feel it.

“Soon,” Kynan agrees. At least, Lance thinks that’s what he said because his voice sounded muffled, like someone speaking from two rooms away. The next breath he takes is the cold conditioned air of the facility and Lance gasps at the ceiling from the floor.

His arms ache and Lance knows he’s scratched them to hell and back. Again. He curses as he slowly dislodges his nails from where they’re dug into the meat of his arms near his elbows. His fingers brush raw welts as he lays his arms against the floor and he hisses through his teeth.

And he didn’t get _any_ of that.

Lance pushes himself up in inches, muscles shaking, and shifts enough so that he can rest against the corner of the desk.

Fuck.

He says it out loud, too, for extra measure.

“Fuck.”

That answers his question about Allura, though, he thinks as he catches his breath. It leaves another question in his mind, however, one that burns at the forefront even more than before. Why is Alleyn so important?

_… past…?_

“Gabi?” Lance whispers but Gabriella’s rise of emotions was brief, fleeting, and they disappeared quickly under his own. He stares at the far wall, waiting. But as his breath calms and the shaking in his muscles fade, Gabi remains silent. He closes his eyes and sighs.

When Lance takes a deep breath to further settle his heart, he nearly gags on the stench that wafts up from his shirt. Fuck. That’s right. He needs to change and shower. He groans as he hoists himself to his feet and he throws his shirt off before the lingering smell of vomit can make him throw up again.

It misses the basket by a long shot but Lance isn’t in the frame of mind to care. He doesn’t care about the rest of his clothes either when he strips. With a change of clothes, his toiletries in arm and a towel wrapped around his body, he makes his way to the showers. He doesn’t encounter anyone on the way but he does see Amilee’s back as she turns the corner at the other end.

He half expected Akira to be lingering around with the way Lance ditched him earlier but he’s nowhere to be seen. There’s a vague sense of disappointment that Lance decides not to think about as he slips through the door.

The air is thick and humid, like someone just finished, but he can’t hear anyone around the wall that blocks the door. Lance peeks around the corner and there’s no one hiding in one of the stalls that he can see. Must’ve been Amilee, then.

Confident that the area’s empty, Lance drops the towel and drapes it over one of the bars and sets his clothes on the counter next to it. There’s no mirrors, thankfully, but there’s also no curtains for privacy. Not since Katie’s…

Not since Katie.

Lance is used to it by now but he still gives the bare bar a look when he steps into the stall and sets his things on the small raised ledge by the floor. He turns on the water.

His time as Gabriella also holds his quickest shower times yet.

When Lance finishes five minutes later, he gathers his bottles and hurries back towards his towel. What he doesn't expect is for Akira to be standing just outside his stall and his reaction is instinctive and immediate. He hurls the one thing he has a secure grip on, his sponge, and it hits Akira's face with a wet slap.

"What the fuck!" Lance shouts as Akira belatedly ducks and brings his hands up to block. The sponge ends up in his hands and he stares at it with wide eyes. Lance throws the next thing in his arms, his soap, and Akira notices quick enough to actually dodge.

"I'm sorry!" he cries as he stumbles towards the door. The sponge falls to the floor. "I didn't mean to, I was trying to leave!"

"Get out!"

"I'm going! I'm sorry!"

Embarrassment has Lance’s heart racing as he watches Akira rush around the wall. There's a towel around his waist and his hair is wet but he didn’t have anything else. Lance looks towards the far end of the room and he sees the pile of clothes and the single bottle of 3-in-1 soap.

Oh.

Lance feels his face heat more than it already is as he snatches up his towel. He's not completely dry when he puts his clothes on but he doesn't want to waste anymore time in the showers. He looks at Akira's things and debates for all of five seconds before he goes and grabs them.

He finds Akira in Geoff's room, sitting on the previously unused bed with the towel draped over his head. He peers up from under it when Lance knocks on the door frame and Lance has to bite his tongue before he calls him Keith. There's a flush high in Akira's cheeks as he determinedly looks away but Lance clears his throat and his attention is drawn back. Lance lifts the pile in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he says, "for chasing you out like that." He tries to ignore Geoff, who's reclined on his own bed behind Akira, and the way his eyebrow is slowly rising. It's mostly unsuccessful and Lance ends up staring at Akira with far more intensity than he intended. Akira nods once and Lance takes two hesitating steps into the room before he decides, 'fuck it', and strolls the rest of the way towards Akira's desk.

He sets the pile on the corner then quickly vacates the room. He doesn't linger long enough to hear if Geoff has anything to say.

Amilee is at her desk when Lance returns to their room. The smell of vomit lingers but the window is open and there's a steady breeze that cuts through the room. He drops off his things and grabs both notebooks before leaving again.

Time to figure out more Altean. Maybe he can get Gabi to wake up again.

Lance finds the courtyard empty when he steps out. Which means Dani is probably in the lounge. His heart leaps in his chest and he scurries over to the table. He couldn't have asked for a better opportunity.

"Alright, Gabi," he mutters to the air as he flips the notebook open. "Wake up and help me, you've clearly been paying more attention than I have."

10 minutes of staring at Altean and Gabi doesn't wake up. 30 minutes of finding Kynan’s name and Gabi still doesn’t wake up.

By the time lunch rolls around, he's only taken what she had written out and applied it to the most recent transcription. He hasn't puzzled out anything new. Everything is still mostly a mystery.

Lance leans back with a weary sigh and stares blankly at the walls of the courtyard. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He's really starting to get tired of playing pretend.

He sighs again and rests his head in his arms. He wants to go home. He misses Keith. He really misses Keith. The thought makes him laugh and he had to press his palms against his eyes to stop the burning. If only Keith could actually see him now. He doubts the guy would want anything to do with him.

“Gabi?”

Lance’s head shoots up and there’s Akira standing in the doorway. He somehow looks concerned and nonchalant at the same time. Or maybe it’s because Lance knows that subtle turn of his lips combined with the tilt of his brow means he’s concerned when he’s trying to hide it.

“You don’t need to be worried about me,” Lance says as he straightens and wipes his face with his sleeve. “I’ve just had a rough morning, it happens to everybody.”

“I wasn’t-” Akira looks confused for a second before he shakes his head and steps fully into the courtyard. “Geoff said I should talk to you. I think he wants to foster some gossip.”

“Ooh, the basket case is actually talking to someone, how enticing,” Lance drawls. He flips the notebooks shut. Akira only gives them a brief glance before focusing on his face again. The concern is back.

“You’re not-”

“I’ve been here for six months. I’ve seen people leave as soon as one week.” Lance raises a brow daring Akira to contradict him.

“That doesn’t mean you’re a basket case,” he says and Lance scoffs. “Look,” Akira sighs and sits across from him. “I don’t care that you’ve been here for forever and a day. We’ve all gone through shit we’re trying to work around. I just want to talk to someone my age who will actually talk and my brother said to find the most interesting person I can.”

“I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or not.” Lance frowns and Akira shrugs.

“It wasn’t meant as an insult,” he says. “He told me that’s what I should do to try and make friends. I figured the situation wasn’t all that different.”

Lance blinks, then laughs. He’s not even sure why. He throws his head back at the first bark of laughter and ends up having to bend over the table because his stomach hurts so much. There’s something absurd about Akira’s straightfaced approach and the fact that _his brother_ told him how to make friends.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps and turns away to collect himself. “I don’t- This is so _weird!_ ”

“Okay?” Akira’s frown could easily classify as a pout. Lance shakes his head and buries his face in his hands. Akira gives him time to stifle his giggles and by the time Lance is contained, his attention has shifted to the rest of the courtyard. It’s brought back when Lance’s stomach gives a hearty growl.

“Did you eat breakfast at all?” Akira asks with wide eyes.

Lance flushes behind his hands. “Yes.”

“You sure? I saw a lot of faces this morning but not a lot of eating.”

“I ate some!” Lance says and grabs his notebooks as he stands. “I’m even going to eat right now!” He heads for the door and Akira is right on his heels.

“Good, ‘cause we’re actually late, now. I was supposed to come get you.”

“You couldn’t have said that from the start?”

“You were upset!”

Lance grins at him over his shoulder as he steps into the building, easy and flirtatious. “You’re so sweet, you’re making me swoon with your heart of gold.” It almost feels like a relief. The tone is automatic, low and smooth and so, so easy to fall back into.

“Don’t do that.” Lance blinks and stops because Akira has stopped. His eyes are closed and he looks like he’s trying not to cry.

Not exactly the reaction he was expecting.

Lance turns and opens his mouth but he’s not sure what to say. Flirting doesn’t usually make someone look like they’re trying to forget. Does he brush it off? Does he keep going? Akira steps in far enough to let the door shut behind him. It echoes through the hall, almost too loud for Lance’s ears.

“Sorry,” he ends up saying and Akira brushes passed him with a single shake of his head.

“Let’s just- Go.” Akira’s voice is thick and Lance swallows in sympathy. He watches as Akira heads down the hall, shoulders tense, and wonders what he’s remembering. He wonders what he’s trying to forget.

The things he comes up with aren’t good.

* * *

Lance is the one to seek out Akira at the end of the day. He’s not even aware of it for the most part, but he stops walking when he comes across the lounge and Akira is sitting on the couch. He doesn’t even look at Lance, just continues to spin a pen between his fingers as he stares out the windows. The setting sun gives the whole room an orange glow.

There’s a memo pad upside down on the coffee table.

Lance wants to say something. Probably should, all things considered, but nothing comes to mind. Akira wants to be friends and he can sort of understand that. Lance wanted friends when he first woke up too. Except he wanted his already made friends not these… weird alternate copies.

Lance pulls his lip between his teeth and shuffles his weight. His grip is starting to bend the binding on his notebooks. There isn’t a difference for Akira, this is the only reality he knows. The notebooks in his hands suddenly feel ten times heavier.

Akira still hasn’t noticed him. The pen continues to spin and the memo pad still sits where it was haphazardly thrown. Lance can leave and he’d be none the wiser. He can worry about being friends another day.

He gets halfway turned around before he grits his teeth and faces the room again. Or he can go sit down and stop being such a chicken shit. Just don’t get attached, he tells himself as he pads across the carpet.

He may look like Keith, but he’s not actually Keith. Just… play it safe. Just be a friend. He can be a friend, right?

Akira jumps when Lance drops into the opposite chair. His pen flips away and clatters over the table to land at Lance’s feet.

“I hope you weren’t trying for gold with that,” he quips. He picks it up and sets it in the middle of the table. Akira watches him, slack jawed, and clears his throat when Lance raises a brow.

“Thanks,” he says as he picks it up. His eyes dart away from Lance to stare at the table. The memo pad, actually, Lance figures out when he reaches out and gingerly picks it up. _Be a friend_ , Lance tells himself as he bites his tongue. Akira turns it around to stare at the scribbles on the other side.

Lance’s heart leaps to his throat and he busies himself with his own notes. Akira’s scrawl is eerily similar to Keith’s. _Not Keith, not Keith, not Keith_ , becomes a mantra in his mind as he opens the notebook and focuses on his own writing.

Be a friend and don’t treat him like Keith.

It’s actually Gabi’s writing that stares him in the face. He looks at her version of the swirling Altean letter then at the other notebook. A connector, huh? Maybe he should start finding more patterns.

“My doctor said I should try writing.” Lance looks up and Akira has slumped into the corner of the couch. He doesn’t look like he sees the paper even as his pen runs along the page. He glances at Lance over the top then stares back at his fingers.

Be a friend.

“Are you writing to anyone in particular?” Lance tries not to wrinkle his pages as Akira’s lips thin.

“My brother.” His voice is flat and there’s a far off look in his eyes even as they narrow. Lance takes a slow controlled breath.

“I feel like that doesn’t make you as happy as it should,” he says. Akira sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out in a deep sigh. His head drops back to roll against the cushion. Lance bites the inside of his lip. “What’s his name?” he asks and doesn’t shy away when Akira looks at him.

“Shiro,” he says, then stops himself with a shake of his head. “It’s Takashi, we just- I just call him Shiro.”

“Takashi Shirogane,” Lance murmurs and Akira nods. Well, there’s one thing that stayed the same. He wonders, briefly, where the turning point in history was. Where did it split to land him in the wrong body in a mental institution?

“He wanted to be a pilot.”

Lance echoes Akira’s nod then blinks as he frowns. “Wanted?” He looks at Akira and the curiosity dies in his chest. He’s staring at Lance, wide eyed and frozen, and he’s clutching the memo pad in a death grip. The knuckles of his hands are turning as white as his face.

“Akira?” Lance sits up from the slouch he’s slipped into and it seems to break Akira from his shock. He stands and knocks the coffee table as he bolts from the room and Lance can only stare at his back as he disappears around the corner. Lance swallows the nerves that swell in his chest.

Good job, Espinosa. Good friend attempt. You did great. He probably hates you now.

Distantly, he hears a door slam. Shit.

Lance groans and curls as much as he can into the cushion of the chair. His legs dangle off the arm and he kicks his frustration at the air. He uses the notebook to muffle another groan. Great.

He sighs into the paper and takes a moment to just sit. One step forward, two steps back. The ink is a blur when he opens his eyes, too close for him to focus. He lifts the notebook and stares at Gabi’s writing before snapping it closed.

She’s still quiet. He closes his eyes, tries to call her forward, but all he gets is a headache between his eyes.

He can’t help anyone, can he? Not Akira, not Gabi, not even himself. He’s still stuck in this stupid facility with a truth he’s not allowed to tell.

Lance stares out the window towards the highway in the distance. Every so often, he sees a car that might be his mother’s but it always misses the turn in. When it gets too dark to tell, Lance gets up and returns to his room.

Maybe tomorrow will yield something different.


	3. Twin Flames of Fire, Lit In Another Time And Place

Lance wakes up to plain painted walls and overcast skies. The breeze coming through the still open window smells of rain. He rolls over and Amilee is already gone. Her bed is only partially made. With a sigh, Lance sits up. 

He follows his routine methodically. Go to the bathroom, get changed, apply his skin care routine, find a pimple and proceed to have a minor freakout before covering it in concealer. All in all, a pretty normal start to the day. He’s tugging his sleeves down over his wrists as he heads down the hall towards breakfast. It’s early enough that Lauren hasn’t decided to come fetch him. Nice.

Akira’s there when he rounds the corner, shoulders slumped in a familiar exhausted slouch. It’s also early enough that Lance doesn’t think before he acts. He reaches out, fingers skimming over the bare portion of Akira’s neck where his hair parts to get his thumb into position. Then he digs in along the top of his spine and Akira melts. For all of two seconds.

Then he jerks out from under Lance’s hand and twists in his seat to stare at him in wide eyed shock. His fork clatters to the table and the quiet shuffle of early morning stops. Heat flares in Lance’s face.

“I’m so sorry!” he bursts out. Louder than intended but, as it turns out, his control is shot. “So sorry! I didn’t mean to-”  He waves his hands, tries to find the words to diffuse the situation as best as possible. “It was just… Habit! It was habit, I’m sorry!”

Maybe he’ll take it.

“How was that habit!?” 

Yeah, no.

“Jesus Christ, what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Lance exclaims. Dani looks like she’s trying and failing to hold back a grin. His face _burns_. 

“That doesn’t look like the face of ‘nothing’,” she says. A quick glance to Akira shows that he agrees, but Lance hurriedly looks away and drops down into his seat. 

“I’m sorry, it was an accident. I won’t do it again,” he says, willing his face to cool. It doesn’t.

“I’ve _never_ seen you look like that,” Dani points out. Her chair scrapes against the floor as she sits. “Whatever you’re doing,” she says to Akira, “keep at it.” Lance buries his face in his hands. 

“I’m not… I’m not doing anything,” Akira mutters, sounding lost and confused.

He’s really not. Lance is just utterly incapable of controlling himself. 

“Well, you’re doing something.” Geoff finally decides to speak up and Lance doesn't know what he does but it sends Akira into a flustered sputtering mess. Lance groans. 

Then Lauren and Tim walk in and the teasing dies in the wake of medication and the rest of breakfast. Lance keeps stealing glances to Akira throughout and every so often he’ll catch Akira doing the same. All of it seems to be to Dani’s great amusement. But it passes without any further incident and Lance leaves the area with Lauren’s voice calling behind him.

“Don’t forget group is at 1!”

Right, weekend’s over. He waves over his shoulder and her voice drops to a low murmur as she speaks to someone else. Amilee, he remembers when he gets to his room and she’s not there. Monday’s are Amilee’s days with the good doctor. One less thing to worry about then.

He digs the notebook out and drops it open on the desk. Gabi’s writing stands out in clear contrast to his own and Lance sits heavily in his chair. There’s still no sign of her in the back of his mind.  He sighs as he pushes that one aside and pulls out the one full of Altean. He’ll need a new one soon.

And a new pen too, maybe. He tests it on the corner and relaxes when it runs smoothly. Enough for now. He spins the pen between his fingers as he stares at the next blank page, waiting for the familiar itch. 

It’s all he seems to be doing. Waiting for the next vision, the next hint towards getting back. He doesn’t want to wait anymore. He wants to go, to leave, maybe find Blue again and get away from this skewed reflection of Earth.

He grips his pen tight. He wants to go home. He closes his eyes and leans over the desk, resting his head in his other hand. He wants Keith. He wants Hunk and Pidge and Shiro and- 

He takes in a shaking breath and lets it out slowly. When did the castle become home? When did the fight become normal? He opens his eyes and stares blankly at the notebook, the lines burring to make the page solid. His fingers itch.

He closes his eyes and falls into it. His heart thrums steady and his next breath tastes sweet. A breeze lifts his hair from his face and he opens his eyes to too-blue skies and a sweeping valley of juniberries. 

Altea. 

He can see the rings in the atmosphere, shifting ever so slightly with every tick. The palace stands at the top of the valley, the town at its front and the juniberry fields at its back. If he leans far enough over the balcony, he can see the Castle of Lions on the other side of the palace. 

He sways on his heels and tries to defuse the restless energy that’s running through his veins. It doesn’t work. He’s too anxious. Alleyn’s too anxious. He clutches a book, old and well worn, between his hands with a finger between the pages to mark the place. 

Soon, his heart tells him. He just needs to tell Alfor. And get a catalyst. And find a location. And tell Kynan, can’t forget to tell Kynan. He sighs heavily and starts pacing the length of the balcony. 

Yulchrite could work. Or fractine. Or Howitan’s Crystal, that would be pretty. Not very durable, though. He shakes his head. Nevermind. Something strong, something that can withstand tonnes upon tonnes of pressure. Maybe eradine?

“Planning on making a garden in that trench you’re digging?” Lance jumps and nearly drops the book to break against the stone. 

“Alfor!” he scolds and the man laughs. Allura peers curiously over Alfor’s head where she sits on her father’s shoulders. 

“I figured I’d see what my brother was up to since he missed lunch,” Alfor says. “I’m not surprised to find you fretting again over that book.” He gestures to it with a hand and Lance feels his face heat.

“Just… Trying to work out some logistical issues. Can’t do the ceremony with just words, unfortunately.” He gives the book a sour look and Alfor laughs again as he hooks his arm around Lance’s neck.

“Come with me,” he says, already pulling Lance along. “I’ve got just the thing.” Lance and Alleyn are equally skeptic. The look he sends Alfor feels compounded as a result and, for whatever reason, it makes Allura giggle. Her feet kick in her amusement and Lance leans as far from them as he can in Alfor’s hold. The grin that breaks out is automatic. 

“Do you know what he has planned?” He asks her. “Is it real or is he full of it like always?” She doesn’t answer, of course not. But she coos and reaches for him even as Alfor’s fingers dig into his side. Her fingers latch onto his hair and he’s powerless to escape the onslaught.

“Do you want my help or not?” Alfor growls into his ear, playful laughter at the edge of his voice. It sends Allura into another fit of giggles and Lance laughs right along with her. 

They narrowly make it through the room without hitting anything and when they make it to the hall, Alfor finally lets him go. Allura doesn’t and they end up having to put her on Lance’s shoulders instead. A fair trade, all in all, in his opinion.  

“So what is it?” Lance asks as he concentrates on keeping Allura balanced and not dropping the book. Alfor holds his hand out and Lance lets him take it, the finger he’d kept between the pages finally slipping free.

“It’s called iridiachrome,” he says, “a rare stone in the Dalterion Belt that’s mined solely from meteorites that land in their mineral oceans. Super hard to find.”

“Iridiachrome?”

“Mm-hmm.” Alfor looks entirely too pleased with himself as he flips through the book. “Incredibly dense, able to withstand phenomenal amounts of pressure, and entirely customisable. Perfect, wouldn’t you say?”

Lance looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Almost too good to be true. How do I know you’re not pulling this out of thin air?”

Alfor’s good humor doesn’t fade. “I had some delivered if you wanted to take a look at it but if you don’t, that’s fine. I’ll just tell Lyra to send it back, it’s no trou-”

“You have it here?! Now?!” Lance jerks to a stop and he snags Alfor’s sleeve to pull him back when he keeps going. Alfor looks at him, a smug turn to his lips. 

“Where did you think I was taking you?”

“Lunch!”

“Oh,” Alfor blinks and looks to the ceiling as he nods to himself. “Yes, sorry, I see where you might have gotten confused. But!” He raises a finger as Lance raises a brow. Allura kicks her feet and rocks as if to get Lance to keep moving, which he does with a gentle hand on her foot. 

“I do have the stone!” Alfor says. “It’s on the Castle of Lions, awaiting your approval before the alchemists take it for carving.”

“You got us iridiachrome.” Alleyn is shocked but Lance can’t help but feel like the name is familiar.

“Well, Lyra did,” Alfor admits with a sheepish smile. “She’s the one that found out about it and went about obtaining it. We didn’t want to tell you until we knew we had it, though.”

“You got us _iridiachrome_.”

“Consider it a gift.”

_ “Alfor!” _

“Alleyn.” Alfor stops and takes Lance by the shoulders. Allura huffs and rests her chin on the top of Lance’s head as she tugs at his hair impatiently. “After everything you’ve done for me, this is the  _ least _ I can do.”

“You’re my _brother._ ”

“Exactly.” Alfor smirks and pats Lance heavy on the shoulder as he sighs. “Come.” Alfor gestures down the hall with his head as he pulls away. “You really do need to see it.”

Lance sighs again as he watches his back. The excitement in his step is very telling. Allura makes a noise as she rocks on his shoulders, impatient to the core, and Lance smiles. “I’m going, I’m going,” he says to her, and jogs to catch up.

“So, what does it look like?” he asks and, about halfway through, the sound of his voice seems to dim. The light from the windows turns hazy.

“Like a rock.”

“Alfor,” Alleyn laughs, and as he’s reaching to shove his brother’s shoulder, Lance finds himself reaching out to empty air. He blinks and lets his pen drop. 

“What’s iridiachrome?” he asks the wall, quiet and still trying to remember where he heard it before. Gingerly, he massages the meat of his hand as he looks over his writing. Almost immediately, he sees it. 

Six letters, as familiar as Kynan’s name at this point, and Lance frowns at the implications. He picks the pen up again and underlines it. He pulls the other notebook over and adds the translation to the list. Why does he know it?

There’s a vague memory of when he was talking to Coran. Before everything changed and it feels like it was ages ago. There was… a file? An article? Something that was translating as he was reading. He frowns. What were they talking about?

Lance looks up at the soft knock on the door frame and raises his brow at Akira hovering at the edge. Akira clears his throat and shuffles his feet, and Lance gives a soft sigh. Operation: Be A Friend isn’t ruined then. Even if he’s not Keith, he still looks the same when he wants to talk. 

He leaves the translation book behind as he gets up and when he gets to the door, Akira steps aside. “Over here,” Lance says and nods to the room next door. It’s one of the group rooms, separated enough from everyone else, and Akira nods. 

Lance claims a spot on the other side of the table. He curls up in the chair, one knee raised while the other leg hangs. Akira plants himself right in front of the door, and when he goes for the deck of cards in the middle of the table, Lance isn’t surprised. 

He shuffles the deck slowly between his hands. Lance opens his notebook but he’s not paying attention to the words. He keeps an eye on Akira over the pages. 

He doesn’t have to wait long for Akira to start talking. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, quiet and subdued in a way Lance hasn’t heard in a long time. “For running off on you yesterday. I didn’t- My brother-” He stops himself and glares at his hands like they’re the reason he can’t find his words. Lance waits patiently, tapping his pen on the soft corner of his notebook.

He waits as Akira huffs and starts laying out a game of solitaire. A distraction. A way to collect his thoughts. He glares the entire time, and Lance hides his amusement behind the pages. He’s mid-way through a game before his shoulders loosen. Lance leans back in his chair, ready to listen.

“It isn’t supposed to be like this,” Akira says. There’s a crack in his voice that Lance doesn’t mention as he lays down a trio of cards. Lance lets his pen stop and rests it on the table. 

“With your brother, you mean?” he asks. Akira’s lips thin and pairs off a couple of cards before setting the deck down.  

“No, I- Well, yeah, but I mean- This,” he gestures to the room as he slouches in his chair, “us, here, in this room, in this _building_.” His eyes scan the table as he searches for what else to say, skipping over the cards until he’s staring at his hands. “We’re supposed to be _fighting_.”

“Akira, buddy.” Lance tries to get his attention. His heart is racing but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we haven’t done much _other_ than argue,” he says.

“No! I mean- _fighting_! There’s- there’s a battle we’re supposed to be a part of and a _team_ with Pidge, and Hunk, and _Shiro_ ,” Akira’s voice breaks a bit on the last name and Lance straightens in his seat.

“Akira.”

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” His hands almost slam against the table as he grips it. Some of the cards are knocked out of alignment. “There was a ship, a lion, out in the desert.”

“Akira,” Lance tries again. Some of the pages of his book are going to be wrinkled, he knows it, but Akira - _Keith, this has to be Keith_ \- doesn’t stop.

“That was your lion, Lance.” There’s no more doubt, no more ignoring that it’s _Keith_ gesturing and he’s leaning forward, eyes wide and desperate. “We found her and we all got in and she _took us away-_ ”

“Keith, stop talking,” Lance snaps and he hears the click of Keith’s teeth as he jerks back. There’s hurt there but Lance can’t focus on it. Not when the dull murmur of the other residents outside the room have gone quiet. He sees the moment Keith realizes it too when he pales and slowly sinks back into his seat. 

“Watch yourself,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper. He uncurls his fingers from the sizable bend in the corner and lets the notebook fall shut. Then he stands and when he crosses to the other side, Keith’s eyes don’t follow. He stares at the grain in the wood and startles when Lance drops his notebook in front of him followed by the pen.

“This place may be the best in the country,” Lance says as trembling fingers barely touch the cover, tracing Altean script, “but it’s not perfect.” 

Keith looks at him then but Lance can hear steps coming down the hallway and he moves away before Keith can do anything else. Just from the pacing he can tell it’s Lauren and when he steps through the door her eyes alight on him immediately and her face is grim.

“You were told to come to us when you notice any relapses, Gabriella,” she says and Lance bows his head at the disappointment in her tone.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he apologizes and Lauren’s expression softens as she sighs.

“How long?”

“Just a couple days,” he tells her. “It wasn’t as intense as last time. I thought I could work through it on my own. Plus,” he shrugs and looks away for a moment. Lauren’s expression softens. He can feel Keith’s stare on his back and Lance hopes he’s learned to keep his head low. “I take it the doctor wants to see me?” 

Lauren holds up the access card for him to take. “You know the routine,” she says as a smile cracks her lips. “You’ve been good lately, the weekend notwithstanding, so it shouldn’t take too long. You’ll likely be out by dinner.”

“I hope it’s mac and cheese.” Lance smiles back as he takes the card and steps around her.

“Now, you know that’s too much to hope for,” she says to his back and he waves in response. He can’t bring himself to laugh.

Lance has to go upstairs in order to reach the doctor’s office. He presses the card against the reader next to the door and it unlocks with an echoing clang. It shuts heavy behind him, even louder in the stairwell and Lance bounds up them two at a time. His heart is racing, anxiety riding high and he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans before he opens the door.

The doctor, _Iverson,_ is waiting in the middle of the hallway, arms clasped behind his back and Lance ducks his head before he says anything. “I should’ve come on Saturday, I’m sorry.” Iverson sighs and his stance relaxes.

“There’s no need to apologize, I understand your reasoning,” he says as he approaches. He reaches out and Lance steps forward and allows himself to be guided.  “We’re going to try this method one more time.” He leads Lance passed the main office and cold dread settles in his stomach. “If nothing changes we’ll see about finding something else or adjusting your medication.”

“Of course,” Lance nods and grips the key card tight. Iverson holds his hand out for it. Lance bites the inside of his lip and reluctantly hands it over even though he knows it won’t work once he’s in the room. They stop in front of a plain door. Solid steel and heavy as hell and Lance knows he’s not going to make it out for dinner. There’s no fooling this room.

The panel beeps and flashes green. The door opens with a hiss. Iverson’s hand presses at his back and Lance steps into the dark. When the door shuts silently behind him, he curses whoever signed Gabriella up for experimental procedures.

* * *

 

Keith tries to stop the shaking in his hands when Lauren looks at him through the doorway and he knows there’s no way he can hide how unsettled he is from her. The look she gives him is apologetic, like she knows exactly what happened and Keith feels a chill run through his veins.

“I’m sorry about her,” Lauren apologizes. “Gabi had a rough beginning here with hallucinations but to try and involve you with them,” she trails off and shakes her head. “Come to me if you need anything, Akira, I know it can be stressful.”

Keith nods, unwilling to say anything to implicate him. Lauren shakes her head again and walks away. He waits, hands braced against the table and the chair. Is somebody else going to come along? Is his nurse going to bring another card and send him in the same direction? Keith scans the corners of the room and spots a camera in the opposite corner to the door. 

Whoever looks is going to know that _he_ was the one to go off. That he was the one yelling about space lions and _god, what was he thinking?_ He’s in a goddamn insane asylum! Of course they’re not going to take shit lightly.

He takes the notebook and practically bolts from the room. More cards end up on the floor. He doesn’t care. Lance is actually here with him. He was right and it wasn’t just him imagining and projecting. Lance is here and now he needs somewhere to hide. 

He checks the courtyard first, usually only occupied by Dani or Gabi - no, Lance, that was Lance the whole time - but he doesn’t even open the door before he sees the camera through the window and he reroutes to his room. He passes Geoff in the hall as he heads towards the lounge with his book and Keith feels his breath loosen somewhat in his chest. The room is his for the time being. 

He doesn’t dare close the door. Closed doors during the day bring suspicion, he’s learned that much already but he hides on the floor between their beds so a single glance inside can’t find him. He’s tempted to crawl under the bed even, but he resists and opens the notebook to the first page.

He recognizes it from his first day when he sat with _Lance_ in the lounge. It had been in _his_ lap with each page filled with thick ink. Looking at it now, Keith knows why Lance had kept it mostly hidden. The Altean flows from line to line and page to page with barely a break between them. And there’s-

Keith squints at the words and brings the book closer. There’s something familiar about them. He licks his thumb and flips through to the fresher pages. They’re less ink-rubbed, the characters sharper and Keith sees where Lance has started to see a pattern. He’s underlined a few of them and from what Keith can remember, they spell out a name. He frowns and raises his head above the edge of the bed. 

Nobody’s in the hall as far as he can tell. There’s a stack of printer paper in Geoff’s desk and Keith darts out to grab a couple sheets before he goes back to crouching between the beds. Then he’s laying on his stomach in order to scribble out his thoughts easier and from his new position he can see under the bed and the door beyond it. Good.

He takes Lance’s pen and starts writing out what Altean he remembers. This one curves and sounds like ‘ki’, that one looks like _'hi’_ and sounds like ‘ro’, and those two combined makes ‘ch’. That one… he knows yet doesn’t at the same time.  Keith scowls.

He fills what blanks he can from the page he has open and ignores the headache that’s forming at his temples. Or he tries to anyway. He’s practically glaring at the page because the room seems too bright and when he buries his head in his elbow to hide from the light, he recognizes the ache that’s spreading through the rest of him. 

Migraines, his brother had told him when they first started happening six months ago. Weekly migraines that would make him pass out despite medication and Keith learned not to plan things for Wednesdays. Except it’s not Wednesday, it’s Monday, and for some reason it feels worse than normal.

His stomach turns and Keith gags in the minimal space between his face and the floor before he forces himself up. If he’s going to be passing out, he can’t leave this out in the open. The open pages of Lance’s notebook are wrinkled from where he was unconsciously gripping them and when he tries to smooth them out, one almost tears out. Shit. Fuck. He tries again but his hands don’t want to work for him and he gives up. 

Keith shoves all the pages together instead and stumbles to his feet. The room sways and the colours, bland as they are, shift and blend together. He slaps a hand to his mouth and tries to not fall on his face. He’s gotta hide this. He can’t leave it out, he needs to hide it. The pen falls and a couple pages of printer paper slip under his bed. Not important, he decides but it does give him an idea. He just needs to... 

He slides to the ground again, using the bed as support and wedges his fingers between the mattress and the boxspring. He may not have the strength to just lift right now but leverage is a thing and if he can get his arm far enough in then he can slide the notebook in next to it. 

Fuck, his head hurts. 

He swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth then rests his head against his arm and closes his eyes. A break. Just a small break, he tells himself. The nausea has subsided a little with the dark but it’s still there, Keith can feel it, and thinking and waiting for it to surge is like waiting for an ambush. So he swallows again and works his arm further until it’s buried nearly to his shoulder. Good.

He opens his eyes to press the edge of the notebook into the space just so he doesn’t wreck the pages anymore than they already are. The light hurts and his stomach rolls but he clenches his jaw against the urge to vomit and shoves the notebook under. The cover bends and part of the spiral binding squishes but he gets it far enough under that it won’t be painfully obvious that he hid something there. He yanks his arm out and stares at the spot where the sheet’s dislodged. He hopes. 

Keith groans when his head gives a painful throb and he drops to his back as he closes his eyes again. He swallows once, then twice and grimaces, the taste in his mouth sour. He clenches his teeth and slowly gets to his feet. He is _not_ going to throw up on the floor. He chances a brief glance around the room and immediately regrets it when the pain spikes at his temples. Nausea surges in the form of bile in the back of his throat which he forcibly swallows down. 

Keith bolts for the bathroom. 

It’s a relief to let it go but at the same time it’s painful and each retch and cough sends another spike drilling through his skull. His grip on the bowl is tremulous at best and he swears if he shifts his arm the wrong way, he’s going to smash his face into the porcelain and end up in a heap on the floor. 

He doesn’t know if that would make things worse or not.

Eventually, one minute or five minutes, he doesn’t know, Keith starts heaving up nothing but strings of bile and he desperately wishes that his brother - _Akira’s brother_ , his conscience tells him - was there with him. But he’s alone, self-admitted after his brother disappeared.

_ Alone,_ his mind repeats as another empty retch strikes through his skull. Tears burn in his eyes and he bites back the sob. _You’re alone, alone, alone._

He gasps into the bowl and does all he can to breathe through his mouth. He refuses to open his eyes. Slowly, tentatively, he reaches for the lever and presses it with a shaking hand. The sound of the toilet flushing is louder than he expects and he ends up sprawled on his side after his grip slips from the edge. 

Keith groans against the throbbing in his head and draws his knees to his chest. He turns as much as he can away from the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom as he covers his eyes with his arm. It’s darker but the sound of the tank filling echoes too much and he presses his hand against his ear as well. At least the floor is cold against the fever he surely has. 

But he knows he can’t stay there. Geoff is going to come back at some point and who knows the ruckus that finding him on the floor of the bathroom is going to bring. But the floor is blessedly cold even if he has to keep shifting to find another spot. It’s colder than what his bed is going to be with its too stiff sheets and uncomfortably firm mattress. But he can’t stay, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, no matter how much he _wants_. 

But, but, but…

He’s also not going to get anywhere with ‘buts’.

Keith takes a deep breath, wary of the state of his stomach, and slowly lifts his arm away from his head. There’s a ringing in his ear from hard he’d been pressing but the water in the toilet has finished running and all he can hear is his breathing. He cracks open an eye and decides that’s enough as he forces himself to his feet. 

His head _pounds_.

His stomach turns but it’s not the violent lurching that precedes vomiting. He’s safe for now, he tells himself as he clutches the sink for support then the doorframe. But he’s not going to be safe forever. He eyes the trash can half full of used paper towels and kicks it over half a thought later. One wad rolls free but the rest stick to the plastic lining and Keith grabs it by the edge and empties it the rest of the way. He’ll deal with the mess later. Or someone else will. He doesn’t care anymore.

He staggers back to the main room with a hand braced against the wall and he’s thanking Red with every fibre of his being that his bed is closest to the bathroom. It’s also the closest to the door but in that instant he doesn’t care, he just wants to lay down and _stop moving_. 

He drops the trash can next to the bed and can’t give a single fuck when it lands on its side. Just like him as he drops on his bed with his legs hanging off the edge and gasps in the air that feels too thin. He was right, though. The bed is too warm. The pillow is also making his neck hurt on top of everything else so with numb fingers that barely want to work, Keith pulls it out and chucks it to the floor. It takes him a couple tries but eventually he gets it and by the end he’s too tired to even lift his arm back over his eyes. 

This is bad, though, he knows as he swallows back sour saliva. The worst it’s been in months. Everything in him aches from his toes to his hips to his elbows. Every joint, every muscle, wants to die and his brain seems to be making a valiant effort to make it possible. He tries to remember the last time the pain had been this bad but all he gets are hazy images of Shiro that wasn’t Shiro but Shiro all the same and faint recollections of a dream.

He wants his brother, he wants Shiro, he wants _Lance_. He wants the Lance from before everything went to shit. The Lance that isn’t wary of every shadow and trusts everyone who was friendly. He wants the Lance who would sit with him in quiet after a long day. He wants the Lance that would poke and prod until he poked back. 

He wants to go _home_. 

But he can’t so he imagines. He imagines that Shiro isn’t missing, just down the hall getting ice water. He imagines Lance next to him. A soft presence at his side, barely touching but there. He imagines Hunk’s voice in the murmur outside then Pidge in quick reply. He imagines Allura and the mice and Coran as he hurries down the hall towards the princess. 

He sighs out a breath and Lance next to him shifts. Fingers trace his brow and he turns his head into the touch. The hand draws away for a moment and Keith cracks his eyes open to see where it went. Warm blues lit by fushia greet him, slightly apologetic and Keith reaches out to bring the hand back.

“Did I wake you?” Lance asks and Keith looks back at his face after he captures Lance’s fingers in his. The pink accents around his eyes bend slightly with his concern.

“No,” he shakes his head and Lance smiles softly. He bends down to press a kiss to his forehead and Keith uses the motion to bury his other hand in Lance’s hair, fingers threading through soft white. 

“Kynan,” Lance reprimands with a laugh when Keith doesn’t let him up right away. Keith laughs with him as he presses kiss after kiss along his face. Between his brow, on his nose, under his eye, on his mark. He only relents when Lance thrusts a hand between the break and Keith is left kissing his fingers. 

“Happy anniversary,” Keith says when he pulls away and Lance allows one last kiss before he sits back up at the edge of the bed. 

“Happy anniversary, love,” he returns and Keith realizes he’s already dressed for the day in draping blues and violets accented in white with gold gleaming in his ears. Fancier than usual, even. He looks to the clock to find it vargas after his usual wake up time and the alarm turned off.

“I’m going to spoil you,” Lance declares as he stands and moves away. Their fingers separate after they stretch as far as possible and Keith watches his back until it disappears into their closet. 

“By making me wake up late and miss my exercises?” He questions and gets out of bed himself. Lance is loud in the closet and his cursing pours out when he trips over something he probably left on the floor. Keith’s halfway across the room when Lance reappears in a flurry and thrusts an outfit at him.

“I’m making you relax and actually take the day off,” Lance counters. “Now here, put this on.” He stands eager as Keith holds the main piece up to see what it actually looks like. A companion to Lance’s is what it is, cut in the same style but with soft reds instead of blues and when he finds the winged blade woven into the fabric, his breath leaves him. 

It’s small and unassuming along the high collar but it’s their crest, made just days after they got married and Keith traces it with his thumb with reverence. 

“When did you get these made?” he asks and tries to think back to _when_ something like this could’ve been hidden in the closet without him noticing. Especially with how new these look. But Lance just grins at him.

“Later,” he waves the question aside, “I want to see how they look on you.” He gestures with his hands and Keith turns towards the bed to get changed. 

The fabric is smooth against his skin, light and airy and the belt that cinches at the waist makes the fabric fold over his hips ‘til it ends above his knees. He stands still as Lance hooks the sheer red scarves to his wrists and shoulders so that they drape down his back. Another scarf, more solid and white, is tied to the belt and the width of it covers his right leg even with its folds. The boots, if he had them, would come up to his knees and have heels if Lance’s are anything to go by.

When Lance steps away, Keith turns slowly on the spot with his arms spread wide. He has a sneaking suspicion as to what these are for. By the time he’s facing Lance again, his husband has the bottom half of his face covered with his hand and his ears are slowly turning red. It makes the gold stand out even more. 

“Alleyn,” Keith laughs and Lance turns away as he waves his hands in the air.

“Not yet!” he proclaims and makes for the back wall. There’s a panel on the side that beeps when Lance presses his hand against it and the glowing seam through the middle splits to reveal the window and the view outside. Keith breathes a sigh of wonder as he steps closer. 

“I already hashed it out with my brother,” Lance says as Keith takes in glittering waterfalls and towering trees. “He’s agreed to let us spend a whole day here as long as we take my Lion with us.” He’s nervous under the excitement, Keith can tell. His hands won’t stop moving and there’s a tilt to his lips that says he half expects Keith to turn it down.  It may be their anniversary but they’re also in a war and not many things in war can spare a movement of downtime.

But, Keith thinks to himself as he steps even closer to the window, they probably won’t get another chance at this. There’s a building at the top of the cliffs, a sprawling manse of whitestone that shines through the trees. Keith knows exactly where they are. 

“What strings did you pull to get the Eforans to let us use their temple?” he asks, already smiling and Lance laughs as his shoulders sag in relief. 

“While it might be a full five quintants for us, a day is still a day for them,” he explains but his eyes shift and Keith can tell he’s still nervous. “And I may have told them a teensy little lie that might not be a lie if you agree to go through with it but it’s not bad! Definitely not! I’ve just,” his hands flutter in the air, “I’ve always felt bad that we didn’t actually get to have a proper wedding, that I wasn’t able to _give_ you that despite my status so I told them that we weren’t married yet and wanted use their temple as the location for our wedding and they agreed a-and basically what I’m asking is will you marry me? Again?”

Keith is pretty sure he stopped breathing. Lance is staring at him, eyes hopeful as his hand reaches out and Keith is weak. So weak. He takes Lance’s hand in his and laces their fingers together. 

“With every birth of a soul?” he asks and Lance’s relief is instant and joyous.

“And last breath of a star,” he grins.

Everything shatters when something grabs shoulder and  _ shakes _ . The dream-like quality of the room turns to white washed walls and Keith has no idea where he is. His head is pounding, the room is too bright and whoever is touching him is far too loud. They’re speaking but Keith can’t understand a word. It’s almost like his translator is broken and when he reaches up, he finds his helmet missing. His eyes fly open and through the spike of pain at the brightness he finds himself void of his armor. 

He doesn’t have his armor. _He’s on an alien planet and he doesn’t have his armor._

He jerks away, escapes the grabbing hands and drops off the edge of the surface he was lying on. There’s an alien on the other side. A person, tall and lanky and vaguely human shaped but Keith can’t identify with them. He’s a captive, plain and simple, without his armor and without his weapons. He has no way of contacting his team. He needs to get out.

He scans the room, searching for exits, and when he decides the window to be too much work he lunges for the door. The alien looks weak and slow, someone who’s clearly not a guard. But the joke’s on him apparently when his arm is grabbed in a surprisingly tight grip and Keith’s heart leaps to his throat. 

_"No!"_ He shouts, hoping for the shock value because his own voice hurts his ears, and drops low to twist out of their hold. It’s partially successful but he gains a few scratches down his arm and he kicks out at their knees to trip them up further. 

While they may be quicker than he first thought, they’re certainly not very dextrous. Keith’s pleased to find that out as they crash to the ground and he scrambles away. They’re shouting behind him but without the translator, he can’t understand and he runs for the door.

More aliens are running down the hall to his right while a couple more are spectating so Keith bolts in the opposite direction. Then there’s even more shouting and he forces his legs to move faster. “Pidge!” He shouts into the air because if there’s even the slightest chance that his team can hear him without his suit, it’s going to be her first. 

“Hunk, Lance, Allura!” He calls the others just incase they’re in the building with him. “I need help! I need an extraction!” And despite everything, he still expects to hear their voices sound in his ear. “If you can hear me, give me a sign!” He needs a weapon.

He turns the corner into what looks like a lounge area and runs headlong into another alien. They both end up crashing to the floor with a shout but Keith manages to catch himself in a roll. Distance, he has to keep that distance. The alien isn’t grabbing for him yet but he’s not going to give them the chance to either. 

He gets his feet but then the room tilts sideways and suddenly he’s back on the ground with his cheek pressed into the rug and unable to tell if there are two or three chairs around that coffee table. He tries again, this time with his eyes closed and gets maybe two steps before an alien is shoving him back down and restraining his arms. 

“Please!” he cries out and tries to roll and gain leverage. He gets one hand free and manages to pull himself a few inches forward before he’s all but sat on and his arm is retaken. _"Please!"_ He looks at the aliens that are standing to the side with wide eyes, almost timid, and begs as much as he can with his eyes for help. “Let me go!”

Something flashes out of the corner of his eye, a glimmer of metal and fluid, and he only recognizes it as a syringe once it’s plunged into his neck. He doesn’t remember passing out. 


	4. Worlds Collide In Inner Space

Keith wakes up sore and in a room different than the one he fell asleep in. There’s only the bed he’s lying in and nothing else. He sits up slowly, taking in the single window near the ceiling, the door in the opposite wall, and the camera above it. At least his migraine is gone, that much he can be thankful for.

His neck hurts though, more than the rest of him and he rubs it to try and alleviate the pain. It doesn’t work. With a sigh, he gets up and tries the door. He isn’t surprised to find it locked but he wonders what happened for him to end up here in the first place. He hopes no one found Lance’s notebook. 

“Hello?” He calls and knocks on the wood. When there isn’t a reply after thirty seconds, he still isn’t surprised. There’s bruises on his arm though, he notices, in the shape of a large hand and more on his other arm and when he takes in the soreness in his back, a sour taste fills Keith’s mouth. 

What  _ happened? _

“Hello?” he calls again and pounds on the door with his fist. There’s still no reply, not that he expects any and he turns to take in the room again. There’s the bed with no sheets, low to the floor and bolted down. He gets to his knees and finds there’s not even six inches between it and the floor. No hiding under there, clearly. The window near the ceiling doesn’t open, even if he could reach it and there’s a vent in the ceiling right next to the light. 

Nothing. 

Keith looks over the bed again and tilts his head in thought. He hooks his fingers under the mattress and lifts it up. The frame underneath is barred and Keith considers how hard it would be to kick one out. The joints look thin but not particularly brittle. He purses his lips and lets the mattress drop. He looks at the camera, at the flashing red indicator light, and raises a questioning brow.

“Is there anyone out there?” he asks on the off chance that there’s audio, “why am I here?” He doesn’t know what happened after he went to sleep. Just from looking through the window, Keith knows it’s morning again. He’s missing an entire eighteen hours and in the interim, he somehow got hurt. Not for the first time, he wishes he had his knife. 

He approaches the door again and runs his fingers along the seam. It’s hinged on the outside but even if it was the other way, he doesn’t have to tools to dismantle it. There’s less in this room than there is in a prison cell. 

He crosses the length of it, counting his paces, and turns back to the door. Taking the bed into account, there’s barely enough room for a fight. And all he has is a shitty mattress and the shirt on his back. He stares into the camera again. It’s hard to believe that Lance has been here for six months if this is the knowledge he’s had to live with. 

The sound of the lock turning is quiet but Keith hears it as if he’s got his ear right next to it. He stares at the door, waiting for it to open. He’s the furthest he can be from it right now and every second the door stays closed is a precaution. He can rush the door. He knows, they know, but that’s not going to get him answers. So he waits and keeps himself ready. His eyes flick back to the camera. 

Then the door opens and a man steps through the gap. His jaw clenches and he forces himself to stay in place. He knows this man. In a different life, in a different time, Keith knows this man and he  _ hates _ him. His uniform is replaced with a suit but he still stands with military precision and the disdain in his eyes is as pronounced as ever. 

Iverson runs a mental health facility and Keith now understands Lance perfectly. 

“Who are you?” Iverson asks after a moment. Keith frowns, unsure of what kind of game this man seems to be playing. “It’s a simple question,” Iverson prompts when he doesn’t answer right away, “it only requires a simple answer. Who are you?”

“Akira Shirogane,” Keith replies, “my name should be in my file.” Iverson’s expression doesn’t change nor does his stance.

“Why were you admitted here?” Keith’s eyes narrow and he scans the room again. The door is still open, a swift escape incase he does something. He thinks he can hear voices if he listens hard enough.

“I was admitted here at Red River’s recommendation for BPD,” he says, “which should also be in my file.” He takes a deep breath and settles himself more on his feet. Iverson still doesn’t move. 

“Where are you from?” He asks and Keith is really starting to wonder where all this is going.

“Texas. Austin, specifically, which should  _ also _ be in my file.” He clenches his jaw and resists crossing his arms. Iverson is the same as when he walked in. A part of Keith, distant and mostly forgotten, wants to fall into parade rest. 

“Who is your immediate family?”

“Takashi Shirogane,” he says then dares to take a step forward, “listen, can I ask what this is about?”

“You will stand there and answer my questions, Shirogane,” Iverson barks and Keith immediately takes that step back as his spine feels like it’s pulled straight by a rope. “Where does your brother live?” And Keith is almost done playing this game. 

“I don’t know anymore, he’s missing,” he speaks through gritted teeth and he has to remind himself not to grind. “I last saw him at home in Austin.”

“What is your connection to Gabriella Espinosa?” And it’s there that Keith stumbles.

“I- what- Huh?”  _ What does he know?  _ His heart races in his chest. “What does she have to do with me?”  _ What did he see? _ He can feel his palms start to sweat. “I only met her when I got here.”  _ What did he hear?  _ He wants to run forward but he doesn’t know what Iverson will do.

But all Iverson does is frown and nod. He doesn’t say anything more. He doesn’t look at Keith again as he turns on his heel and heads for the door. Keith’s heart leaps to his throat. 

“What’s going on?” he bursts as he starts forward, “I answered your questions, why am I here? Where’s Gabi, what did she do?” He reaches out and grabs hold of Iverson’s sleeve. “ _ What happened _ ?”

Iverson glares down at him and slowly, silently, pries Keith’s fingers from his jacket. His grip is tight and unyielding, a clear message of ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ and sure to leave bruises. More, Keith connects as sees the ones on his arm.  But he stands his ground and doesn't take his hand back as he glares up. This man has answers and Keith is going to get them.

“You will be seeing your psychiatrist later today and until then, you are to stay here,” Iverson practically sneers, “after your episode yesterday, you’re too much of a danger to the rest of the residents here.”

“Episode?” Keith echoes as Iverson thrusts his hand away -  _ shoves him back _ \- and steps over the threshold, already closing the door. Keith sucks in a breath through his teeth.  _ He’s missing his chance. _ He slams against the wood and jams his foot in the crack.

“What episode are you talking about?” he shouts through the force of Iverson trying to shut the door on him. “What happened last night?” He needs to make noise. “Why do I have bruises in the shape of  _ your hands _ ?” Just enough for someone to investigate. 

“Because you experienced severe hallucinations that required sedation,” Iverson states and Keith’s blood runs cold. Whatever explanation he was expecting, it wasn’t that. He’s too slow to react when Iverson presses against the door and his foot slips free. He can hear the slam echo down the hall through the wood. 

There’s a pause. Five seconds turns to thirty which turns to minutes and Keith stares at the door with his breath in his ears. He knows Iverson is still there because he hasn’t heard him leave. 

“Your nurse will be by with your breakfast shortly,” he says finally, “if you need to relieve yourself, you can do it then.” The sound of his steps fade quickly and Keith rests his head against door. He was hallucinating? He tries to think back, tries to remember if it ever happened before but every migraine he has is a blur in his memory and without Takashi, he can’t say for sure if it ever went beyond that.

He prays to Red that it’s only a one time instance.

He takes a shaking breath and releases it slowly. There’s nothing to be done about it now. He just needs to wait. He braces his hands against the door and goes to push off but stops when it gives under his weight. He stares at the half inch between the door and the stop. He doesn’t remember the door locking. 

Keith’s eyes widen and he dares to push further. The door opens slowly from his caution but the hallway is empty when he peeks through. He steps out, his heart rabbit fast in his chest and he waits to see if someone will come. There’s still the soft murmur of people talking but no steps as far as he can tell.

_ What is Iverson’s game? _

He scans the hallway again but nothing has changed. This is some sort of test, it has to be. Though if it’s one of trust or deceit, Keith doesn’t know. He could leave. Go to the dining room and have breakfast with everyone else. But if Iverson was telling the truth and he hallucinated in front of everyone, what would be their reaction when he just strolls out and casually takes a seat. 

He rolls his lip between his teeth and steps back into the room but leaves the door open. Best not to risk it at this point. He still doesn’t know what happened to Lance. 

He returns to pacing, crossing corner to corner as he waits for his psychiatrist. Joaquim, he reminds himself. His name is Joaquim. He tries to sit patiently on the bed but his knee starts bouncing immediately and he’s back to circling the room. Maybe Joaquim will tell him what happened to Lance. He pauses and runs the thought again, thinking of the man’s clean cut demeanor, then shakes his head. Maybe not. 

He still doesn’t hear anyone coming. No sign of Joaquim, or even Tim with breakfast and Keith’s daily dose. He goes to stand in the middle of the hallway again. He doesn’t even know how much time is passing. Has it been two minutes or ten? He wants to know what happened to Lance after he got sent upstairs. 

But the hallway remains empty and the low murmur is still there and Keith needs to do more than pace a small eight-by-ten room. If the doctors are going to experiment, Keith is going to give them something to study.

He steps out and turns right, away from the sound of people, and nearly collides with Lance. He sucks in a startled breath, eyes wide, and he doesn’t get the chance to speak before Lance is crowding close. His presses a finger to his own lips as he backs Keith into the room again. 

“Stay here,” he whispers, and Keith frowns. There’s something wrong with his voice. “I’ll be back. Where’s the book?”

“Under my mattress,” Keith says. The relief on Lance’s face is visceral.

“Good, good, thank you.” He’s backing away, not really even focused on Keith anymore. “Stay here,” he repeats and he’s closing the door and Keith’s heart leaps to his throat.

“Lance!” Keith hisses and Lance shakes his head. 

“I’m not- I’ll tell you everything later, I promise.” The door shuts and Keith is left staring at the wood as the lock turns. 

_ What the fuck? _

\---

The nurse, Tim, comes and goes and Keith only leaves to go to the bathroom. He doesn’t ask about Gabi. He watches the light of the sun as it moves across the wall and sits on the bed as he thinks. 

Lance has a notebook full of Altean. From the state of the earlier pages, he guesses there’s more than one. And there’s a name, repeated over and over that Keith finds intrinsically familiar. 

“Who is Kynan?” Keith asks the silent walls. The sunspot flickers as a bird flies by. Who is Kynan and why is he so important?

There’s a shuffle and a sniff down the hall. A dull murmur and steps moving away. Not Lance. Keith closes his eyes and tried to envision the notebook. Tries to see the words even if he can't fully remember the meanings behind them. He doesn’t get very far and his chest burns with frustration as he groans. 

He's useless right now. 

The lock on the door turns. Keith’s head jolts up but it's not one of the nurses or even Lance that pokes their head in. Amilee looks around the room with wide nervous eyes before looking at him and even then, she doesn’t keep eye contact. She bends down, half hidden by the doorframe and sets something on the floor. 

“Gabi said you need this,” she says then darts out. The door shuts behind her and the lock turns back into place. Keith looks at the floor. 

It’s a pill. A small, blue and white capsule inside its little plastic dish. 

What the fuck, Lance?

He gets up and takes the pill in his hand. There’s a tiny numbers stamped on one side but that doesn’t tell him what it is. Keith looks at the door and wonders what’s on the other side. Is the hallway empty or is Amilee still lurking? Is Lance with her or did he truly send his roommate to deliver Keith a pill?

Keith looks at it again then drops it in his pocket. 

Whatever it is, he needs to keep his wits about him which means not ingesting weird drugs. The doctor still hasn’t come by. He looks at the door then up to the camera. Don’t ingest weird drugs, especially when someone’s watching. Keith turns away from the door and heads back to the bed. 

He can play the waiting game.

He plays the game when the doctor finally comes. He plays it through the questions and the decision that he’s to remain in solitary for another day. He’s allowed a change of clothes and a shower. He plays it through the delivered meals and another round of meds. He only asks about Gabi once. He doesn’t receive an answer. 

Which is fine, he doesn’t expect anything different. There’s a regimen to being hospitalized with the expectation to obey and deviation isn’t recommended. 

Keith lays on his back and stares at the ceiling in the dark. He doesn’t have control over the lights. There’s a square on the wall from a lamp outside. The pill feels heavy in his pocket. When he sleeps, he doesn’t dream.

When he wakes up, it doesn’t feel like time has passed at all. He’s tired and his eyes feel heavy, but the sun is back and he can smell breakfast from down the hall. He thinks there might be pancakes, something palatable for once. Keith frowns at the door and wishes he was at the table with everyone else. 

He wants fresh pancakes, too.

But no, he has to wait for his nurse to come by with everything else before he can eat. It kind of sucks be he’s in no position to argue. So he plays the waiting game some more and plucks at the threads of the sheets. Plucking at the threads turns into picking the pearls of lint off, and slowly and steadily, he works through clearing a patch. 

The sound of the lock turning startles him to his feet. He grabs for a weapon he doesn’t have and glares as the door opens. Tim comes through, monitor behind him on its rickety wheels and breakfast in hand. Keith groans and sits back on the bed as he rubs his face between his hands. 

“Good morning to you, too,” Tim says and Keith grunts. Tim sighs through his nose and sets the tray on the bed. “You’re almost done,” he says. “Dr. Dos Santos’ going to let you out today and you’ll be able to join everyone else again.”

“Great. If only I can remember what I actually did.” Keith gives him a flat stare through his fingers and the man grimaces. 

“If I could tell you, I would,” Tim says, a false promise if there ever was one. “But the memory loss is only one of the symptoms you have to work through with your psychiatrist, you know that.”

“Right.” Keith scrubs his face then runs a hand through his hair as he sighs. “Let’s get on with it, then.” He holds out his arm and Tim hooks him up with practiced ease. Five minutes later, he’s out the door with instructions for Keith to eat. The doctor will be in soon. Keith swallows the disbelieving scoff with his cooling pancakes. 

He wants to savor breakfast but he honestly can’t remember the last time he had pancakes. Akira’s memories are dim, like he’s recalling an old movie, and even for him, it’s been a while. Too long for them to last, anyway.

He wipes up the last of the syrup with a fairly sizable chunk and he’s left staring at an empty plate as he chews. As much as he wants seconds, there’s no chance he’s going to get it. Which is unfortunate. 

He’s stopping at an IHOP as soon as he gets out.

There’s a soft knock on the door and Keith frowns around his fork. It opens without his prompting and Amilee appears in the crack again. She glances at him with a wavering ‘um’ and ducks down to set something on the floor. Then she’s out again and the door locks behind her. 

There’s another pill. 

He almost forgot about it but he can feel it again against his hip as he stares at another one on the floor. He doesn't need to see it up close to know they’re the same. He puts the tray back together and trades it for the pill next to the door. It joins the other in his pocket and Keith sits back down to wait. 

Patience yields focus.

\---

He does get to leave later, when the doctor rules the hallucination to be an isolated incident. He’s told to tell someone if he feels another one coming on and Doctor Dos Santos assigns him another pill to take in the mornings. An antipsychotic. “Just in case,” he says. 

He’s just doing his job, Keith tells himself.

He’s led back to the main area and the first thing he does when he’s left alone is to try and find Lance. The problem, he realizes after doing two laps of the place, is that Lance is nowhere to be found. He’s not in the lounge, or the courtyard, or the showers, or in any of the rooms used for group. Not even his own room. 

Keith glares into the empty bedroom with his arms crossed. Of course he would disappear on the day Keith got out. 

“U-umm.” Keith blinks and turns to see Amilee shuffling her feet a good three arm lengths away. She glances between him and the door and pulls her lip between her teeth. Her hands pull at the bottom hem of her shirt. It takes Keith an embarrassingly long moment for him to realize she’s trying to get into her room. 

“ _Oh_ , sorry.” He backs out of the way and Amilee nods as she ducks past him. When she stops just inside, Keith raises a brow. 

“You’re… looking for Gabi?” she asks as she turns slightly. She barely raises her eyes from the floor. Keith nods. “She’s uh… She’s upstairs. With Dr. Iverson, um.” She shuffles on the spot as Keith closes his eyes and wipes his hand down his face with a deep sigh.

“She should be back soon,” Amilee says. “She went up a while ago so... It- it shouldn’t be too much longer now.”

“It’s fine,” Keith says and lets his arm drop. “I’ll just find hi-her later.” He starts to turn away, planning on going to his room for a change of clothes. But something on Amilee’s face makes him stop, even if she doesn’t make a sound. She looks anxious, more so than normal and there’s an intensity in her eyes that keeps him in place. For once, she doesn’t look away after half a second.

“You… You’re doing okay?” she asks and Keith blinks in surprise. 

“I’m fine,” he says and shrugs at the small frown Amilee gives him. 

“It’s just… On Monday, you looked…” She hesitates and seems to debate something in her head. She rolls her lip between her teeth and Keith waits for her to come to a conclusion. He doesn’t have to wait long. She pokes her head out the door and looks both ways down the hall before she pulls him in. 

“Amilee?”

“Shh.” She presses a finger to her lips and Keith falls silent. She lets go of his wrist in the middle of the room and leaves him to stand there as she digs through the desk nearest to the window. When she pulls out a stack of Lance’s notebooks, Keith sucks in a surprised breath.

“You looked scared,” she says, “on Monday. When you were running through the halls.” He was what? “You were… calling for people. Calling for help and I… You looked at me and-” She stops when she looks up at him, clutching the notebooks tight to her chest. Keith frowns.

“I don’t…” He shakes his head. “I don’t remember.” Amilee takes a deep breath. 

“Gabi didn’t either,” she says and Keith is shocked by both the words and the tone Amilee says them. Firm. The absolute truth. “She writes in these everyday after breakfast. She has to or she ends up hurting herself. Group had to be adjusted to give her time. But before that I- I tried to… Wake her up, I guess. I called her name, tried to get her attention but she didn’t react until I shook her shoulder.

“It was…” She makes a face at the memory, a cringing recall of a situation that was Not Good. Keith slowly sits on the bed. 

“You know,” he says softly and Amilee nods. Keith holds a hand out and she passes him the notebooks. 

“I know… Something’s different about her,” she says. Her hands go back to pulling at her hems. “A-and you too, I guess. You called for the same people.” She falls quiet as Keith opens the notebook on the top of the stack. It’s old, he can tell that much just by the state of the pages. He comes across the point where a deep gouge cuts through five of them. Keith traces along the edge with his fingers. 

“How long have you been here?” he asks.

“O-oh, um,” Amilee practically jumps and her shoulders come up around her ears as her eyes dart back and forth. “I’m in and out, to be honest. Only really here a few weeks at a time. Um. As far as I know, Gabi hasn’t… left? Since she got here?” Keith shakes his head and Amilee sighs as she sits in the desk chair. 

Keith flips over the stack and opens the bottom notebook. The one currently in use. The spine is indeed bent and he quickly finds the page he almost tore out. He smooths his hand over the jagged edges before turning it over. On the next page, there’s a word underlined that he didn’t notice before.

Not Kynan’s name, he realizes. Longer, but just as important. He knows it, somehow, but he can’t remember what it is. Pidge’s voice is a dim echo in the back of his mind, but whatever she says doesn’t solidify into something he can understand. 

“It’s strange,” Amilee says and Keith looks up from the ink rubbed Altean. She’s pulled her knees up to her chin and her feet rest on the edge of the seat. “Gabi doesn't speak to anyone. But you… As soon as you showed up, she changed. It was… It was almost like… She knew you?” Amilee isn’t looking at him, her gaze distant as she stares at the far wall.

Keith swallows hard. 

“Then Monday… Things changed again after Monday. I don’t- really…” Amilee looks at him out of the corner of her eye then clears her throat as she stands. She shakes her head as she makes for the door. 

“She’ll be down soon,” she says. She stops briefly in the doorway. “If you… If you need _anything_ , I’ll help.” Then she’s gone and Keith lets out a heavy breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

If things changed, it’s probably not for the better.

There’s another notebook on the desk and Keith transfers from the bed to the chair. He sets the stack down and when he opens that one, he sighs. Translation notes. But there’s something… off. That doesn’t look like Lance’s writing.

The angle’s different along with the curve, and flipping back through the pages shows more of the same. He almost thinks that it is Lance’s writing now, changed by the situation, until he gets to the front and the difference is stark. 

What _ happened? _

There’s movement by the door and Keith looks up to see Lance coming in and shutting the door. But there’s still something different. He holds himself strangely, not in a way Keith is used to. And even the way he looks at Keith has changed. There’s recognition, yes, but the warmth that Lance usually has for him has dimmed. 

“Lance?” he calls, quiet because things are at stake here that they can’t afford to lose. Even if Keith can’t give a name to them just yet. 

And Lance shakes his head. 

He takes the chair from Amilee’s desk, drags it until it’s right in front of Keith, and sits himself down. His arms are around Keith’s shoulders the next instant with his face buried in Keith’s neck. He’s shaking, fingers trembling as he clutches at Keith’s shirt, and Keith doesn’t hesitate to hold him back.

“I’m scared,” he says in Keith’s ear. Even his voice is shaking. “Something happened on Monday. Something changed. We went in and it was normal. Everything was _normal_. But something must’ve broke ‘cause I came out and he’s still asleep.”

Keith’s heart skips a painful beat. “Who?”

“ _ Lance _ .” Keith freezes. Ice fills his veins and the bitter bite of fear sours the back of his throat. But he doesn’t let go. If anything, he holds tighter, fingers digging in what must surely be a painful way. It’s all starting to make sense.

“You’re Gabi,” he says and there’s a half choked sob, muffled by his shirt. Gabi nods against his shoulder. Her shaking somehow gets worse. 

“I can’t wake him up.” Her voice cracks and breaks. Keith knows there are tears staining his shirt. “I keep calling but he’s stuck. I tried to see if there was anything in the books but they’ve all been _useless!_ ” 

He needs to calm her down.

“I don’t know what to do!” she cries. Keith runs his hand through her hair and pulls the tie so it falls around her shoulders. “I keep trying and trying and nothing works.”

“But he’s not gone, right? You can still feel him.” There’s a hiccup of a sob as Gabi nods. Keith rubs his hand along her back. “So there’s something else we haven’t figured out yet. We’re missing the final piece to the puzzle, we just gotta find it.”

“But what if we don’t.”

“We will.” Keith closes his eyes and presses his cheek against Gabi’s. “We have to.” Gabi takes a deep breath. One that shakes the whole way down and Keith holds her through it. She lets it out slowly and Keith can feel her relax with it. 

“Okay,” she says, barely audible and Keith nods. 

“We’ll make it,” he tells her. “Just keep looking.” Gabi sniffs loud in his ear before pulling away. Her fingers stay latched in his shirt.

“We need to get out of here.” Her eyes are squeezed shut and she takes one hand back to wipe her face with her sleeve. “We can’t keep going like this. Lance is losing hope. There’s nothing left here to find.” Keith frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t do anything while we’re stuck here.” She looks at Keith full of frustration and if she tugs any harder on his shirt, it’ll probably tear. She realizes it a second later when she starts and lets it go. Keith barely pays attention to her fingers as she smooths the wrinkles. 

She’s right. They’re essentially held prisoner under the guise of hospitalization. They longer they stay, the longer it’s going to take to get out. It’s a bitter pill to swallow when Keith remembers Lance has been here for six months. 

“Then we’ll leave.”

Gabi looks at him with wide eyes. 

“The next chance we get, we’re walking out that door.” 

Her hand stills on his shoulder before dropping to her lap. Then she seems to process what he said and takes his face between her hands.

“Are you insane?” she bursts, understandably frantic and concerned. “There are rules! Procedures we need to follow! We can’t just _leave!_ ”

“We can and we will.” Keith takes both of her hands in his and leans close. “Once we get out of here, we’re not coming back. There’s nothing here that matters.” Gabi’s breath leaves in a rush and Keith finds himself holding his. 

Her eyes flick back and forth, looking between his own and Keith holds firm. He’s not backing down.

“The people here don’t matter.”

It’s the wrong thing to say apparently. Gabi’s anger is visible in her jaw and the fire in her eyes. She pulls her hands free and leans away from Keith, going so far as to push the chair back as well. 

“These people have been nothing but good,” she says. “There’s no reason to make their lives harder just because we couldn’t wait a few more days.”

“We’re in a war!”

“Not to them!” She snaps and Keith grits his teeth. “This is the only thing they know and what they will _ever_ know. I’m not involving them in a fight they don’t need to be a part of.”

“So, what?” Keith swings his arms as he stands and starts pacing. “You’re just gonna sit here while they give you shit for a condition you don’t even have? Do you actually want to get out of here or are you too scared to break out of this bubble?”

“Of course I do!” And Gabi’s on her feet, fists tight at her sides. 

“It’s been six months and you’re still here!”

Keith expects her to do something. Maybe grab him, shout some more. But Gabi goes silent. The breath she takes is low as her back straightens. Her glare is vicious.

“Get out.” Keith blinks.

“Wha-”

“Get. Out.” Her jaw doesn’t move and she speaks through gritted teeth. Keith takes a small step back and Gabi’s eyes narrow. Fine.

His jaw is tight as he huffs and makes for the door. Gabi watches him as he goes and when he leaves, he doesn’t look back.

Fine.

Keith steams for the rest of the day. He desperately wishes, as he does pushups next to his bed in the spare hours, that he could go back to fighting gladiators. 

Gabi, the next time he sees her, seems unperturbed. She barely gives him a passing glance and after their mandatory group session, she disappears back to her room. 

Fine.

Geoff tries to get a rise out of him but stops after he’s routinely ignored. Dani gives him a look, thoroughly unimpressed, but says nothing thankfully. He spots Amilee around a corner before he turns on his heels and goes the other way.

So he stays in his room. Does push ups until the sun no longer stretches across the floor. Ignores everyone who tries to talk to him. And plots. 

There’s a fire escape in the lounge. It opens to a fenced yard and absolutely has alarms. Alarms bring attention and possibly people with guns. It’s Texas. Everyone has guns. 

New plan: Don’t Get Shot.

Go out through the front. Get the keys for the doors and run like hell. Someone sets off the alarms which bring attention and potentially people with guns. Keith grits his teeth.

New plan: Don’t Get Shot.

Get a message outside. Use the phones and call someone to pick them up. Call who? Everyone’s missing, dead, or doesn’t care.

New plan: Find People Who Care and Don’t Get Shot.

Keith closes his eyes and sits on his feet. That’s pointless to even try. He takes a deep breath and slowly rises to his feet. His arms feel like jell-o and his hands shake. Sweat makes his shirt stick. 

He needs a shower. 

Slowly, he gathers his things together and makes his way down the hall. Unfortunately, he doesn’t spend as long under the spray as he’d like. If he could, he’d spend hours. But the water gets cold quick at the end of the day and he only has enough time to get clean before it shifts.

When he finally goes to bed, he feels drained. He lays on the sheets, face pressed into the pillow, and tries to imagine he’s home. There’s a burn in his eyes that he tries to ignore. It doesn’t work.

If Geoff hears him cry, he doesn’t say anything. 


	5. Past and Present Now Embrace

There are very few times Keith can say he knows what he’s doing as soon as he wakes up. This morning isn’t one of those times but it comes very close. He just needs to talk to Amilee. And Gabi.

But first, Amilee.

It’s very early, still grey outside, but Geoff is up and grumbling in the bathroom.

“Shut up, Steve,” he hears the man mumble. There’s a pause, then he curses. Keith gets changed and leaves him to it.

Amilee’s down the hall, just out of the shower and she jumps when she sees him. Her eyes go wide and she nearly drops her small basket of toiletries.

“You’re very intense right now, please stop,” she says as he gets closer and Keith stops in the middle of the hall. He blinks at her in mild surprise and feels all the urgency bleed out of his shoulders. Amilee relaxes marginally, enough that she’s not unwittingly imitating a turtle and her basket isn’t in danger of being squashed.  

“Sorry,” he says. Amilee shakes her head.

“Just… not so quick next time?” Keith nods and Amilee sighs. “Was there-”

“I need your help,” Keith says and flushes as he realizes he cut her off. Amilee only looks at him, brows raised. “You said you don’t stay longer than a few weeks. That means you leave pretty regularly. That you know _how_ to leave without drawing attention.”

Slowly, Amilee nods. The wrinkle in her brow gets more pronounced. “I-it’s usually approved leave though. Something the doctor signs off on. But that’s not what you need, is it?”

Keith pulls his lip between his teeth.

Amilee sighs through her nose. Her finger taps the side of her basket as her gaze drops to the floor. “Where… exactly… do you need to go?”

Keith hesitates. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if the Blue Lion is here, in the desert surrounded by runes. He doesn’t know if _any_ Lion is here, if they even exist. His nails bite into his palms and he glares at the floor.

“You should figure that out.” She looks at him with mild concern. “If they- If you’re caught, you’re not likely to come back here.” Here, where it’s lenient. Here, where there’s the odd visitor. Here, where they actually treat you like people.

Keith takes a bracing breath. “But you’ll help?”

“I said I would.” Amilee shrugs then nods down the hall. “I’m going to put this away now. Find me later?” Keith swallows hard and nods. Amilee smiles thinly and Keith watches her back until she turns the corner.

Shit. Now what?

He paces the width of the hall a couple times before going back to his room. Geoff is still in the bathroom but he’s no longer talking to himself. Keith can hear the water running in the sink. Outside, the sky has turned a pale blue.

Nothing to do but wait. He stands in the middle of the room, hands fisted at his sides. Everything in him wants to run. He needs it. Needs to do _something_ rather than sit around _waiting._

“So, write,” his doctor told him. “Channel that energy into something else.”

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to write to someone who won’t read it while pretending they will. Why write to someone he barely knew anyway? What’s the point? Who would care? Not Shiro. Maybe.

Keith scowls to himself. He grabs the memo pad from his desk and storms out of the room.

He can hear it now, Shiro’s voice an echo in his head. ‘It’s not about who cares.’ Of course.

He crosses the lounge and sits heavy against the arm of the couch. The cushions accept his weight with a puff. He kicks his shoes off to the carpet.

One more time, he tells himself as he flips to a blank page. There’s still bits in the binding from the first time he tried to write. The torn page is probably long gone. He picks them out and flicks them to the floor.

Just write.

He stares at the page, pen poised, and doesn’t. He’s gripping the pen hard enough for his fingers to ache. Eventually, he drops his head back with a groan. It’s as hard as it was the first time.

His arms fold across his stomach, pen and paper pinned by the weight. He takes a deep breath and, as he lets it go, relaxes into the cushions. What can he even say?

Sorry for being such a failure. Sorry for letting the team down. Sorry for not trying hard enough. His jaw is starting to ache but his teeth won’t separate. He can almost feel the weight of Shiro’s hand on his shoulder. Can almost hear his voice in his ear.

‘You can do this.’

There’s a burn in his nose and Keith blinks at the ceiling. He takes another deep breath and the feeling fades.

It’s been six months. He wonders if everyone’s even alive. Maybe they’re too late and trying to get back is a futile effort. The thought strikes pain in his heart and Keith closes his eyes against it.

It’s too early for this shit.

He turns his face to the right, towards the back of the couch, and presses into the fabric. It’s surprisingly soft, far better than the sheets they’re forced to sleep with. He burrows deeper into the cushions. Turns so his legs don’t feel as cramped. It’s an accident when he falls asleep again.

* * *

A hand ghosts over his brow, clears his hair from his face. It’s enough to wake him up and he stares confused at the back of the couch. Why is he…?

“You’re a mess.” The hand disappears and Keith turns to see Gabi kneeling next to the couch. She gives him a flat stare and rises to her feet. Keith sits up slowly. “I know the beds aren’t the greatest, but the couch isn’t much better,” she says. Keith’s back agrees.

He sighs and rubs the drowsiness from his face. “It was an accident,” he tells her. The pen falls to the floor as he shifts. Right, he’d been-

“Well, breakfast is ready.” She’s turning and leaving when Keith looks up. He catches her eye for only a moment and then she’s gone, heading for the hall. “Don’t make the nurses come and get you.”

Sure. Like that’s his biggest concern. Keith stares hard at her back until it disappears around the corner. He needs to get out of here. He groans and runs a hand through his hair. That’s not happening until he knows where to go which means sticking it out some more and-

“Damn it!” He hisses between his teeth. His fist slams against his knee. When will shit actually work out for once?

He gets up and trails after Gabi, already ready for breakfast to be over. He’s even more ready when he sits down and sees the addition to his medication. A small capsule, blue and white, sitting oh so innocently with the usual white one. He doesn’t look at Gabi despite how much he wants to. He stares at it the entire time Tim takes his vitals.

“There’s no point holding it off,” Gabi says around her drink and Keith jumps ever so slightly.

“You-”

“It won’t kill you.” She raises a brow and the corner of her lips quirk. Goading.

“Don’t worry,” Tim says and pats him on the shoulder. “We’re here if something happens.”

“Yeah, Akira. The nurses will keep you safe.” Keith glares as Tim moves on to Geoff. While her tone may hold some level of comfort, he knows that gleam in her eye. That teasing challenge that he can’t back down from. Even if she isn’t Lance, she’s still very much like him.

He takes the damn pills.

“There you go!” Gabi claps. Keith doesn’t let up his glare. At least, not until Geoff raises his own pill cup in a toast.

“To the crazies,” he says and knocks it back to Dani’s cheer. Amilee sips her water, looking over the rim in clear amusement. Keith snorts.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Gabi asks, chin propped on her hand. Keith shakes his head and pulls the tray Tim sets closer. Just go with it. There’s nothing more he can do.

“It was the worst thing ever,” he says. Gabi laughs, a single burst of sound that rocks her as she claps again. She picks up her granola and dumps it in her yogurt.

“Now, you’re getting it.” She points at him with her spoon before stabbing it into her cup. Keith shakes his head again and lets himself relax. He doesn’t have much of a choice.

Amilee watches him the entire time they’re eating. She doesn’t make it obvious but he can feel her eyes on him throughout the casual conversation with Geoff.

“Have you made up with Gabi yet?” he asks, voice low and secretive as if Gabi isn’t sitting right beside him. “Don’t let it fester, bad things happen when you leave a woman mad. Better to face the music and get it over and done with.”

It’s only been one night, Keith doesn’t say. Instead, he hums and nods along, taking the ‘advice’ and immediately disregarding it. He already knows how to deal with Lance. Gabi is just an extension. He shoots her a look out of the corner of his eye. Probably best not to tell her that.

At some point, his leg starts bouncing. He doesn’t know when, but one he’s aware of it, he realizes how entirely restless he is. Like he needs to go for a run. Or fight something. He clutches his spoon and stares at the bottom of his yogurt cup. There’s maybe half a spoonful but he’s caught up in the strokes along the bottom. He needs to do something. Not this.

Gabi’s hand lands on his shoulder and he looks at her with wide eyes. He gets the sense that he’s missing something.

“I want to show you something,” she says and starts pulling on his arm. Keith blinks and looks around the room to see that the others are gone. He frowns. When did that happen?

“Keith!” Gabi hisses and Keith huffs. He puts down the cup and lurches to his feet. The spoon is dropped next to it as he’s pulled away. He’s strangely unsteady for having so much energy flooding his veins. His fingers are tingling. Keith clenches and unclenches them to diffuse the feeling. It doesn’t really work but it’s something to do.

“What’s going on?” he asks. It occurs to him that something’s different. He doesn't usually feel like this. Gabi looks at him over her shoulder. Her lips are a thin line.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” she says. She sounds… distant. Keith frowns. “Just sit here and take this.” She shoves him in a chair and offers him a pen. He immediately starts spinning it between his finger. He looks at her in confusion when she drops a notebook in front of him.

“Just wait,” she says. So he does. He stares at the paper and waits. And waits, and waits, and his vision blurs as he sways in his seat. He gasps and shakes his head, tries to clear it. And it does go away, sort of.

Between one blink and the next, he finds himself looking not down, but forward into a mirror. He blinks at himself and there’s an odd disconnect where he knows he’s not looking at himself but someone else instead. He knows this, but he also knows who he’s seeing like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The face of Kynan stares back at him, Captain of the Guard and husband to Prince Alleyn of Altea, Blue Paladin of Voltron. The knowledge comes to him like breathing, like it’s always been there. And maybe it has. A speck of forgotten memory drawn back to the surface.

There’s a smile on his lips, a bubble of excitement in his chest. Something’s happening soon that the war can’t put a damper on. There’s a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and Kynan turns - or is Keith turning because he feels Kynan’s intent - to bend down and catch the boundless child that has come running into the room.

“Ky!” Allura shouts, arms raised as he lifts her in the air and there’s no stopping his grin.

“Hello, Princess,” he greets and settles her on his shoulders. “Come to fetch me, have you?”

“Yes!” she cheers. Her feet kick as she tangles her hands in his hair and Keith knows that it’s going to have to be redone. He can already feel his braid coming loose. Her mother steps in the room after her, smiling softly at the sight.

“Lyra,” Keith nods and the Queen of Altea nods her own greeting as she approaches. “Everything well?”

“Very,” Lyra’s smile extends into a playful grin. “Just a small gift before you go. For your ceremony, if it pleases you.” She holds up a colourless crystal, tear shaped and the size of her palm. Keith blinks at it in mild confusion and a sense of apprehension starts to build in his chest. Kynan… almost knows what it is.

“A crystal?” His hand hovers over it, unsure if he actually wants to pick it up.

“Not just any crystal,” Lyra says. She gives a little push with her hand, wanting him to take it. So he does. He picks it up between his fingers and holds it up to the light. A rainbow of colour shines through, like with any other crystal, and Keith looks at Lyra, brow raised.

She laughs, delighted by his reaction, and Allura laughs with her. “This is your catalyst,” she tells him with a wave of her hand. “Mined and prepared solely with the two of you in mind.”

“But what is it?”

“Iridiachrome.”

Keith knows what iridiachrome is. Kynan, does not. Kynan continues to stare blankly while Keith internally freaks out.

“It looks like a regular crystal,” Keith says and it’s a strange feeling to be in control and not at the same time. He isn’t sure he likes it.

Lyra laughs again, louder. “Yes, yes it does,” she nods. “It will until it’s been infused during the ceremony.” Keith’s eyes widen and Kynan’s awe fills his chest to bursting. He holds it tighter, more securely. But if it’s strong enough to be used for this, he doubts it’ll break if he drops it.

“Thank you,” he says softly and folds the stone into the palm of his hand. “You didn’t have to do this for us.”

“That’s why it’s a _gift_.” Lyra stresses the word. She reaches up and Keith bends so she can retrieve her daughter from his shoulders. “It’s no coincidence that Alleyn chose to arrange this now.”

“He knows about this?”

Lyra hums as she nods. “But he has yet to see _this_.” She lays her hand over Keith’s, fingers pressing into his. Allura, never one to be left out, slaps her own hand on top. Keith smiles as Lyra takes her daughter’s hand and kisses her fingers.

“Alleyn is waiting with the Blue Lion,” she tells him. “Best not keep him much longer.” Keith grins and ducks down to press a kiss to Lyra’s cheek then one to the top of Allura’s head.

“Thank you, Lyra,” he says again, and hurries for the door. Lyra’s laugh echoes strangely as he nearly trips on the doorframe. He can feel his own heart beat double time with his breaths. Kynan and Alleyn and a bonding ceremony using iridiachrome.

Keith blinks and he lurches in his seat with a gasp.  The pen falls from his hand and he has to blink at the far wall a few times before he remembers where he is. Grand Ridge. One of the group rooms. The lines of the notebook in front of him are filled with Altean.

He slowly lowers his hand as he turn to his left. Gabi is next to him sitting against the table, arms crossed and tense. She’s watching him with an intensity he hasn’t experienced in a long time.

“What?” He can barely hear himself, stunned to his own ears, and what does make it through is higher than he expects. He swallows, tries to regain control. “What was that?”

Her arms drop and she pulls the notebook closer, eyes skimming the pages. “That was a vision.” Her tone is flat but it doesn’t hide the concern in the angle of her brow. “That’s what geodon does to us.”

“Geodon?” He can’t stop the shake. He doesn’t know if it’s residual energy or fear of the situation.

“The pill you took. The ones I gave you. That’s geodon.” She picks up the pen and underlines a word.

“All that, from a _pill_?” Keith’s nails bite into his palm. Gabi looks at him out of the corner of her eye.

“I know,” she says softly. “It’s not the only thing but…” She hesitates, runs her tongue along her lips. Keith’s heart pounds as he takes a deep breath. “I hope you’re not here long enough to turn to _that._ ”

Long enough for what?

Keith wants to press, wants to unearth the pain that pinches the corners of her eyes. But he stays quiet and leans back against his chair. He looks at the page Gabi is marking.

“Iridiachrome,” he murmurs and Gabi pauses. The pen hovers over the page before she continues on and underlines others.

“You know what it is.” It’s not a question but Keith nods anyway.

“There’s this planet we liberated from the Galra,” he explains. “It apparently had a lot of significance with the previous Blue Paladin, not that we knew it at the time. The Emperor gave a stone to Lance. Said he was returning it to its original owner. Pidge figured out it was iridiachrome.”

The pen stops again, then lifts from the page as Gabi straightens. “It’s the same one,” she breathes. Her eyes are wide and unfocused with realization. “It's the same stone. We’re seeing the past.” Keith's breath shudders in his chest and his hands clench in his lap. He doesn't say anything else, not that Gabi is of any mind to listen. She packs up the notebook and leaves the room without another word. 

Keith watches her back but doesn't make to follow. She needs time to think and so does he because this is all starting to make a disturbing amount of sense.

* * *

 

 

The next clue comes in the news. In one of the sections left discarded on the table. Keith sees it as he’s walking through after group on his way to his room. He’s sure that if someone hadn’t read it beforehand, he would’ve missed it entirely. As it is, he can’t miss the markings featured in the photo, even though they’re black and white.

He still sees them in his sleep.

The Blue Lion exists and she’s still in the desert. Now he has a destination.

He tries to be casual as he picks it up, tries to hide the tremor in his hands by gripping it tight. It wrinkles under the force but Keith isn’t concerned about that. This is his key. His ticket out.

He’s leaving.

“Amilee.” The woman stiffens in the pass, one foot raised. Slowly, it drops back to the floor. Keith folds the paper. “How much longer are you here for?”

Amilee blinks wide at him, a deer caught in the headlights. “Ahh.” Her shoulders draw up, her head dips under the force of his stare. “S-saturday. ‘M getting picked up then. I’m not sure when… I’ll be back.”

Keith nods. He holds out the page of newsprint, and Amilee glances between it and his face. Something twists in her lips, a flicker of concern, maybe. 

“You…”

“Yes.” He gives her a firm nod. This is what he needs. This is where he needs to go. She just needs to make it possible. Amilee takes it between trembling fingers.

“I’ll do my best,” she says. Keith frowns and her gaze drops to the floor. He can’t afford any mistakes. He doesn’t want to know what’ll happen if things go wrong. But Gabi is right. These people have done nothing bad. They’re just unfortunate victims to their own selves.

“That’s all I can ask,” he says quietly. Amilee looks startled as she looks at him. Keith huffs. “Tell Gabi when you see her that I need to talk to her?” His gaze drifts to the ceiling where she’s meeting with Iverson. He doesn’t know how long it’ll be until she gets back.

“S-sure.” Amilee nods. “Um. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Keith doesn’t know. He barely knows what he’s doing right now. He sighs and forces himself to relax.

“I’ll let you know.” He blinks and sighs deeper. The light is getting painful. There’s an angry twist in his stomach and he almost thinks something might’ve been wrong with lunch.

But Amilee seems fine, none the worse for wear. He takes a deep breath and he’s suddenly too hot in his own skin. Amilee gasps and in the next instant, she’s much closer. She catches him by the arms as his legs buckle beneath him.

“Akira!” She cries and Keith whines. It’s a direct stab to his brain and it’s too much. Too much light, too much sound. Ever her hands, as she guides him too the floor is too much sensation. He tries to pull away, tries to keep his lunch in place. He fails both.

“Oh, god. Oh, god. Okay,” Amilee’s chanting as Keith retches. Everything comes up, lunch, breakfast, and he’s willing to bet, last night's dinner.

This is wrong.

“You’re okay. You’ll be okay,” Amilee coaxes him to his side and Keith’s too weak to fight it. It’s too hot. Too cold. Everything’s hurts and _this is wrong._

“Just breathe, you’ll be fine.”

He is far from fine. He curls up on the floor, eyes closed from the light. He’s sure he’s making some sort of noise, it might even be him that’s crying out and sobbing. He can’t do anything about it. It hurts to much. There’s too much pressure, too much everything. Too much, too much, too much.

This is more than just a simple migraine.

There’s yelling and shouting and Keith shakes his head. _Stop!_

Someone touches him and it burns. Something’s wrong. _Please!_

All at once, it’s gone. The pressure in his head is gone. There’s a residual ache in his bones. He can’t stop shaking. He gasps at the ceiling and tries to see through the stars clouding his vision.

“Akira, please,” Amilee is begging next to his ear and he groans. There’s a hitch of a sob in his chest. It feels like his very soul hurts.

“Back up, back up,” Keith hears Lauren say, and he realizes they’re not the only ones in the pass anymore. Everyone’s there, it feels like, murmuring amongst themselves and Keith shakes. A shadow hovers over him, too close for comfort, and he pulls away as best as he can.

He barely gets enough support off the floor, limbs weak and trembling. So he slides. He slides back and back until he under the table and he’s got the legs of the chairs surrounding him. One of them moves and the sound that escapes his throat doesn’t even register as his own at first, desperate and frightened as it is. But the chair stops and the feet behind it move away.

Tim’s there too, his voice somewhere on the other side of the table, but Keith isn’t listening. He covers his ears and closes his eyes and tries to figure out what just happened. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Migraines don’t come on that strong or fade that fast. They just don’t. Which means something else is going on. He swallows the sour tang of bile in the back of his throat. This has to be the worst possible time for Gabi to be elsewhere.

“Akira?”

Keith sucks in a startled breath and his eyes shoot open to stare wide eyed at Tim. Tim, who’s also on the floor - on his stomach - on the other side of the wall of chairs. There’s another face, a nurse Keith hasn’t learned the name of, peering between the seats, and Keith looks away from the worry that creases his brow.

“Hey,” Tim smiles, easy and gentle. Practiced. Keith doesn’t move, doesn’t react aside from closing his eyes again.

“It’s okay,” Tim says. “You’re alright. Everything’s fine.” And it goes on, a soothing litany of comforts that Keith barely listens to but despite it all, he finds himself relaxing. Something in the tone, probably, no matter how patronizing it should be.

It takes him a bit, but he cracks an eye open eventually. Even under the table, the room lights are usually bright, but he notices immediately that it’s dark. Even the lights in the halls have been lowered. Keith didn’t know that was even an option.

Tim is still on his stomach, still waiting beyond the wall of chair legs. But the other nurse is gone as well as the crowd of feet at the end of the table. They’re alone.

“Akira.” Tim calls his attention softly. Keith looks as him and tries to keep the embarrassment from heating his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he croaks and cringes even as Tim shakes his head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Tim assures, “just tell me what you need.” Tim can’t give him what he needs. Keith bites his tongue and presses his lips thin against the scowl that wants to form. Tim watches, patient even as the silence between them draws out. He won't be allowed to leave, not after that. That’s not something that he can ask.

Tim watches him, painfully earnest and Keith breaks eye contact with shame burning his ears. He backs up even further until he comes out on the other side of the table. Tim stands with a sigh and a grunt and Keith uses the chairs to pull himself to his feet.

He feels weak.

“I’m-” He swallows and clenches his fists at his sides. He’s off centre. Unbalanced. There’s a strange energy running through his veins. Part of him still expects the migraine.

“Would you like to lay down?” Tim asks and Keith shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. He nods, and Tim beckons him towards his room. He keeps his head down, doesn’t miss the half cleaned mess on the floor. Tim blocks the view soon enough and Keith tries not to think about it.

“Get changed and rest,” Tim says when they reach his room, “I’ll let Geoff know to leave you for a bit.”

“Thanks,” Keith whispers and Tim smiles.

“I’ll check on you later. Let me know if you need anything.” Then he’s gone and Keith’s alone. He closes his door, leaves the light off, and slowly moves to sit on his bed.

What is he even doing?

The headache is gone. Nonexistent, leaving an exhausted ache in his bones. He opens and closes his hands in his lap. That couldn’t have been longer than five minutes. And he feels just as drained.

He swallows thickly and stands again to get changed.

* * *

Keith emerges for dinner, Tim at his back, and Gabi still hasn’t come back. He looks across the table, takes in everyone making themselves comfortable, and sits stiffly in his seat.

“Feeling better?” Geoff asks. Keith blinks at him, surprised by his concern, and the man scoffs. “Two peas in a pod, you are. You’re just like Gabi, surprised by anyone that shows even a lick of care.” He busies himself with his tray when the nameless nurse (Matt, or Mike, Keith thinks it might be) sets it down.

“Sorry,” Keith murmurs. “I’m fine, though. Thanks for asking.”

Geoff huffs. “We’re all in here for one reason or another. Might as well stick together.” Keith nods and turns his focus to his own tray when it’s placed in front of him. Steak and potatoes, it seems.

The bustle of food does nothing to distract him from Gabi, though. He catches Lauren’s eye from across the table and the question is out before he even finishes thinking about it.

“Where’s Gabi?”

The way Lauren smiles sends a chill down his spine.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with it, per se. There isn’t an underlying sense of malice or misdirection. No schemes hiding in her eyes. Just a generic smile to ease whatever it is she’s going to say.

“She’s still upstairs, don’t worry,” Lauren says. “It happens every now and then, there’s nothing to get up in arms about.” And she continues down the table like that’s all there is to be said about it. Keith looks to the others, but Geoff is muttering to himself while Dani’s already digging in, and Amilee won’t look up from her plate.

And that’s it. Keith’s nails dig into his pants as he takes a slow breath. This is, somehow, normal.

He eats mechanically. He pays passing attention to Geoff and Dani’s evening repartee. When dinner’s done, he leaves with an absent wave.

He’s going to wait.

He ends up back in the lounge, on the couch that he had fallen asleep on that morning. He curls up in the corner and stares out the windows towards the highway.

It doesn’t make sense. Gabi and Lance and iridiachrome, and the fact that they’re stuck here in this strange parallel world. He rubs his fingers together, wishing he had his knife or even a goddamn pen. Something to help him focus his thoughts.

But all he has is himself right now. He doesn’t even have Lance to bounce ideas off of.

He taps his fingers against his sleeve. Guess he’ll have to make do.

Lance received the iridiachrome nearly a year ago from Hadrus. A binding stone, Pidge had called it, rare 10, 000 years ago and even more rare now. Then, six months ago, they ran into an anomaly. An impossible fissure in space. Practically invisible and they only found it when Lance all but stumbled on it during a rescue.

Keith still doesn’t remember what happened after that. Just blinding pain before he woke up here. Lance, he guesses is the same but he fucked it up before he could even ask. Shiro, he knows, didn’t follow, and he can only assume that Pidge didn’t either. And now he’s in no position to even attempt at finding Hunk.

Yet, somehow, he’s closer than he’s ever been in figuring out how to get home. Iridiachrome is the answer. That strange stone that Lance can barely stand to part with and, if Keith has to wager a guess, he himself has a weird connection to it.

Which might be the reason why he and Lance were the only ones affected. Why they seem to be the only ones here.

Who else has a connection, then? No one recent, that’s for sure. If Gabi is right, then it’s the same stone that Alleyn and Kynan used for their ceremony. A powerful and dangerous ceremony that would bind their souls together and-

Keith leaps from the sofa, anxious and restless in the face of his thoughts. He paces the length of the coffee table and tries to come up with another reason. But it’s like he remembered something previously forgotten. A fact as true as his own damned heritage.

They’re bound. Kynan and Alleyn. He and Lance. There’s no two ways around it. If anything, the visions are proof. Damning, unavoidable, evidence. They’re tied together in a way that should be impossible and, somehow, that connection is what brought them here.

_You don’t belong here._

Keith stumbles, trips on the corner of the coffee table. His hand flies out and slaps against the surface before he can finish the trip to the floor. His eyes dart around the room and land on Amilee in the far exit.

That wasn’t her.

She watches him, concern overriding the anxiety in her face as she hurries in.

_You’re foreign. Alien._

Keith feels himself pale. He keeps looking around the room and the sinking pit in his stomach solidifies when he doesn’t find anyone else. Not that he really expects to.

_How long have you been here?_

That’s a voice inside his head. One that shouldn’t even be in his head to begin with. He lowers himself to the floor and barely registers when Amilee takes him by the shoulders.

_How long have you been possessing Gabriella Espinosa?_

Why is Iverson’s voice in his head?

_Give it back._

_“Lance.”_ Ice fills his veins and Keith latches onto Amilee’s shirt with desperate force. Anything she’s about to say dies when he looks at her through his building panic. “Upstairs,” he breathes, “I need to get upstairs. Something’s wrong.”

_You’re not in any position to be making demands._

“He needs help, I need to go help him-”

“Akira!” Amilee hisses and everything snaps back into focus when she shakes his shoulders. Iverson’s voice muffles, becomes almost nonexistent. The darkness that was creeping the edges of his vision fades. Keith’s breath comes out all at once as he stares wide eyed at Amilee’s face.

“You aren’t going to go anywhere if you keep this up,” she says, voice low and there’s a fire in her eyes that he’s never seen before. A level of determination that she’s never shown. “I’ll get you out but you need to listen and do everything I say.”

Keith’s teeth ache from how fast he closes his mouth and Amilee gives him a thin lipped nod. She pulls away and Keith’s fingers detach as she digs into the pocket of her jeans. “Your ride will be here at any moment. I’m going to pull the alarms and you are going to use that as a distraction to get yourself and Gabi out of here.”

She holds up a card, white with the emblem of the facility on the front. A key card. Keith looks at it with wide eyes before Amilee shoves it in his hand. “There’s a bag inside my door with Gabi’s things. Take it and run.”

Her fingers are shaking. There's a tremor in her voice. But when Keith looks at her, he can't help but think she's someone else entirely. Who is this woman who could barely look someone in the eye just hours ago?

“Who are you?”

It’s out before he realises it, a thought that probably shouldn’t have been given voice. He doesn’t miss the way her face pinches. He doesn’t miss the crease of pain in her brow before it’s smoothed by a tired smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m someone who doesn’t matter in the long run,” she says and stands.

“Amilee?” Keith’s eyes follow her back as she steps around him and the coffee table. She doesn’t look at him as she approaches the fire door.

“You don’t belong here,” she says and Keith’s heart skips a beat. His breath lodges in his throat. “You nor Gabi,” she continues. “Maybe you did once, when you were actually Akira and she was Gabi. But not now. Not anymore. I see it. Iverson sees it.”

He can’t move.

“The Galra see it.”

Keith lurches to his feet, turns so he’s facing Amilee fully. Her head is bowed, forehead pressed against the glass and her fingers clutch around the bar.

“They can’t have you,” she tells him, vehemence in her voice. “They can’t have the Blue Lion.” She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, raising her head high. She’s focused on something outside but Keith can’t see anyone on the drive.

“Your ride is here. Go.”

Keith turns on his heel and runs.

The fire alarm rings through the building right as he finds the bag Amilee mentioned. He stands in the doorway, heart pounding as Geoff curses over the noise and the nurses collectively head to the source. They barely give him a passing glance as they go by, all four of them being ones he never learned the names for.

The stairs are further down the hall, near the phones where he found Lance that first night. The alarm drowns out the key card and he goes through with barely a glance over his shoulder. He shrugs the bag on his back as he climbs and bursts into the upper floor with both arms free.

Iverson staggers back, mouth opening in a shout, and Keith lashes out before he even thinks. A sharp jab to his chin to leave him reeling before Keith swings his leg up and Iverson sprawls across the floor. His head smacks the wall and something clatters down the hall, flung from Iverson’s hand. It spins on its side in the middle of the floor, edges catching the setting sun.

The iridiachrome.

That stupid tear shaped pendant that got them into this mess in the first place.

Keith all but snarls at it as he snatches it up and bolts down the hall.

“Lance!” he shouts and the response he gets isn’t audible, at least not physically. There’s an impression of a gasp and for a moment, Keith loses sense of where he is. He’s in the dark, the only light coming from the door. His breath rasps in his throat as he tries to move.

Then he’s back, suddenly breathless, and the stone falls from his senseless fingers.

_“Lance!”_ he yells louder as he tries to keep running forward. But the room tilts and shifts and Keith staggers sideways to the wall. His palm slaps the surface and he bends at the waist to catch his breath. The facets of the stone wink in the light as it spins to a stop on the linoleum, almost like it’s taunting him.

Iverson groans near the door and Keith curses as he forces his feet to move. He grabs the stone from the floor and shoves it in his pocket as he moves towards the end of the hall. Lance is there. He’s-

_In the dark. Unable to move._

_I’m here!_

The room at the end of the hall doesn’t brighten when Keith steps in but he can see well enough anyway. There’s a strange sense of double vision as he stands in the doorway, voice locked in his throat. He’s staring at Lance, limp in the middle of the room and only upright because of the chair he’s sitting in. And he’s staring at himself, slack jawed and stunned, until the shine of Lance’s eyes is swallowed by the darkness.

He strangles his shout between his teeth as he tears into the room. The wires attached to Lance’s head are torn away, even as they seem to writhe in the air. They’re everywhere, Keith realizes. Down his arms, on his chest, and Keith swipes them away with barely a thought.

A rumbling groan makes him pause. But it’s not Lance, even as he slumps forward against Keith’s chest. It’s not Lance that’s making the floor tremble beneath his feet.

He hoists Lance up, hook his arms over his shoulders as best he can as he backs away. He’s pretty much dead weight but Keith finds himself carrying him anyway as the wires shift and drift. It takes everything for him to not fall on his ass when they start to reach.

He backs up, steps going faster as the weight carries him backwards until he’s in the hallway. Iverson is on his hands and knees, dizzy if his swaying is anything to be considered. But he has no problem noticing Keith and the anger that takes over seems to give him the power to stand.

“I should’ve known you would be trouble,” he growls as Keith sets Lance against the wall. Keith doesn’t say anything. His heart pounds as he checks the bag for anything of use. He’s pretty sure it stops when he sees what’s on top.

A luxite blade, sleek and straight with the Blade of Marmora’s symbol emblazoned on the side.

It’s not his. It’s too thin and too long to be his, not to mention the symbol is in the wrong place. He’s pretty sure he knows whose it is but it almost feels wrong. This whole place feels wrong and Keith, as he stares at Amilee’s blade, wonders how he missed everything in the last six months.

He’s starting to see where time turned.

He takes the blade as Iverson barrels down the hallway, roaring over the ring of the fire alarm. But something flashes behind Keith, something outside the window. He looks over his shoulder and his heart leaps to his throat. He barely gets Lance covered before the windows blast inwards and then all he can hear is ringing, high and constant. Unceasing.

He tries to sit up, to see what’s going on. To see who blasted the window. But the world blurs and shifts out of his control. He can’t tell who’s storming the hallway or grabbing Lance out from under him.

He’s pretty sure he’s shouting but he can’t hear himself over the din in his ears. Large hands grab and lift him despite his struggling and he can’t resist when they knock him out.


End file.
